The Needs of the One
by Witherwings01
Summary: Twelve years after the war and Hermione is still waiting for her happily ever after to begin as she cares for a mentally tortured Harry. She has a plan to save him but must choose between the needs of the many or the one. Timetravel with a twist. AU. H/Hr
1. Chapter 1  After the War

Disclaimer: _Am I female? Am I rich beyond the dreams of men? No? Blast, I can't be JK then. I own squat._

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><p><strong>The Needs of the One<strong>

**Chapter One - After the War**

**Twelve years later**

All was not well.

Not for Hermione Granger at any rate.

True, Voldemort was gone. Killed by his own Killing Curse during the Battle of Hogwarts; a curse he had intended for Harry. But Harry had prevailed, victorious, thanks in no small part to a 'power the dark lord knows not', as the prophecy that marked him as the chosen one had called it.

Dumbledore had referred to it thusly - _love_.

Harry had willingly sacrificed himself that night so that others could live on. That noble act of pure, unadulterated love, not only sparing his own life, but also destroying the last Horcrux that had accidentally been placed inside him during Tom Riddle's first attempt on his life on Halloween night, nineteen-eighty-one.

Combined with a greater understanding of the complex science of wand lore, ensured that Voldemort, now mortal once more, had fallen at Harry's hand, bringing to a close one of the darkest chapters in British wizarding history. Voldemort had been destroyed, never to return; his army of death eaters, those who had not fallen in the fighting at any rate, had been scattered to the winds; some in hiding like the rodents they were, whilst others served out life sentences without possibility of parole in Azkaban.

But, whilst the rest of the wizarding world prospered under the guidance of the New Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, in a new era of peace and togetherness, Hermione Granger was still waiting for her happily ever after to begin.

In the hours after Tom Riddle's defeat Hermione had experienced what some would have called a prophetic vision - she preferred to call it a daydream of the future yet to pass. But whatever it's source, she could still picture with crystal clarity, the scene she had witnessed in her minds eye that day so long ago, as she stood contemplatively by the shore of the great lake the morning after the battle.

In her 'dream', she had seen herself as she would be, nineteen years from then; Married and with two beautiful children - Hugo and Rose. Married to Ron Weasley.

She snorted aloud at the memory. _Couldn't even be honest with yourself then, could you Hermione? Even in a dream, your fear of what your heart desired, controlled you,_ taunted her inner voice, and she knew deep down, that it was right. She had never wanted Ron - not really. He was merely the one the self doubting part of her viewed as attainable.

Their short lived romance in the weeks after the battle had proven that much, and although their friendship had been strained for a time after she ended it with him, they had managed to continue being just that; friends.

Harry had been there too. His dream counterpart had married Ginny Weasley, and together they had raised three children themselves - James, Albus and Lily. The two families had gathered together at Kings Cross station to see off the older children on the Hogwarts Express - two of whom, Albus and Rose - were starting their very first year at the magical school.

But a dream was all it was. Neither was she married and nor did she have any children. Not that she would want to subject any child to the nightmare that had become her pitiful existence.

"D-DON'T! DON'T KILL HIM!"

The frantic screams, that fuelled that nightmare, pulled her from her morose musings. She slipped of the small chair she had been perched on - the only piece of furniture in an otherwise unadorned room, best described as a cell - and knelt on the floor, soft shushing noises escaping her lips as she did so.

"Its ok my love," she whispered automatically, shifting closer to the shaking form of a man lying restrained in the corner of the room.

"IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!"

The almost feral growl that accompanied the pained plea would have shocked her into retreat had it not been so common an occurrence.

The-boy-who-lived. The chosen one. _Harry_! Lay before her, a mere shadow of the vibrant person he had once been, and it made her heart break a little more every time she saw him this way. His thin, emaciated frame, twitched and writhed where he lay, his eyes screwed shut against images only he could see as his inner demons tormented him; as they did did every day of his miserable existence. His arms and legs were bound, restrained by magic suppressing manacles, designed to neutralize the wearer against uncontrolled bouts of powerful, potentially harmful, magical energy.

Even so Hermione could sense the magical energy radiating off him in waves; waves powered by anger, fury, but most of all guilt.

It was that guilt; survivors guilt the healers had called it, that led him to be placed under the care of the St Mungo's healers in the first place, six years earlier, when his self destructive post traumatic stress disorder had turned him into a threat, not only to himself, but those around him.

Perhaps in a ironic way, she had caught herself thinking on more than one occasion, it was merciful that his spiral into depression meant the later group was by that time relatively small. All of the close knit group of friends that had once surrounded him had all, slowly but surely, been forced out of his ever shrinking world. Ginny had been the last, tearfully admitting to Hermione that watching Harry's downward spiral towards implosion was going to do the same thing to her unless she made a clean break. She hadn't returned since, and Hermione noted that, far from being angry with her erstwhile house mate, she was pleased that she was moving forward with her life. So, aside from the occasional visit from their former transfiguration teacher, Professor McGonagall, only she and Ron had been regular features in Harry's life.

Not that Ron was much help to anyone these days either. His own battle with depression, brought on, Hermione often believed, by her own devotion to Harry's struggles, had led him to search for answers, not in a padded cell like his old school mate, but at the bottom of a bottle of Ogden's best. The depths to which he had sunk, often left him too drunk, or on his occasional sober days, too angry, to recognised the burdens Hermione carried with her as she attempted to care for her oldest friends - her only friends.

Outside of the hospital she had very little that could be described as a life. She had given up a very promising career at Magical Law Enforcement, during the earliest days of Harry's illness in the hope that she could pull him out of the stupor, and self imposed exile he had fallen into. But as the days had become weeks, months becoming years, she had never felt able to return to the life she had left behind. Instead she now worked as a clerk at Flourish and Blotts, where the few shifts she permitted herself each week were just sufficient to pay the rent on her tiny bedsit located on a side street of Diagon Alley, spending every other waking moment with Harry. _Her_ Harry.

Harry let out another moan of agony, his palms literally crackling with raw magical energy that the suppressors couldn't completely contain. Knowing he would need to be sedated if his magical core continued to radiate energy in such an uncontrolled manner, she flashed a glance over her shoulder to the metal, handle less door, where, through its small window, she could clearly see two healers, poised and ready to act. Nodding to them she scooted across the floor towards him and extended a trembling hand to stroke his tangled, sweat soaked, raven hair. He shuddered at her touch making her flinch, but then his twisted writhings calmed somewhat and his breathing slowed. She pulled his limp form close to her lap, cradling his head to her chest as she whispered continuous assurances in his ears, hers tears flowing freely down her own face where they commingled with the sweat beds on his furrowed brow.

This had been the way her life had been for longer than she cared to remember now. Even before his slip from depression into near catatonia, Hermione had been Harry's crutch.

In the earliest days of his illness, when the good days still outnumbered the bad she had been the one to all but forcibly drag him out of the house to see the good they had achieved - the magical world freed from the oppression of the dark lords regime. She had, perhaps naively, believed then that he would come back to them - to her. But, as he slipped further and further away, she had offered every part of her to him, both figuratively and literally, hoping against hope to anchor him in the reality they had helped create. But even the post coital glow rarely lasted more than a few moments before the darkness that had once threatened the whole world, claimed him - her world - once more, leaving him crying in her arms late into the night.

"It's ok my love," she crooned, noting through the window that the healers had stepped away, apparently assessing the threat as under control - for the time being at least.

Startling her with a speed of movement that seemed to defy his condition, Harry leapt to his feet, his emerald eyes now wide and wild, as he began to pace the room in short, rapid shuffles, constricted as he was by his bindings. The magical detention cell recognised his movements as non-threatening and transfigured the padded cell walls and floor into smooth unadorned surfaces, each the same bland colour of freshly skimmed plaster.

Hermione pulled herself to her feet and resettled herself on her chair, recognising another of Harry's delusions, knowing she would be invisible to his eyes now, as he re-lived those dark days of the Horcrux hunt.

"W-what could they be? What c-could they be?" he mumbled repeatedly to himself as he shuffled from one wall to another and back again. "The r-ring. T-the diary. Sl-lytherin's loc-ocket - "

Hermione watched him as dispassionately as she were able as he mindlessly repeated the conversations the trio had shared innumerable times themselves during what would have been their seventh year, knowing that this, relatively calm manifestation of his condition, wouldn't last long.

She was right.

But not in the manner that she had suspected.

Harry crumpled to the floor, sending her leaping from her chair as if propelled by a firework. She had obviously shouted aloud for a moment later the door to Harry's detention room swung open, two healers with wands drawn, silhouetted against the bright light of the corridor behind.

"Miss Granger," the taller of them enquired, as she knelt beside the form of her beloved.

"He collapsed," she explained as she felt for, and found a strong if rapid pulse. "He needs - "

"Her - my - nee?" her voiced trailed away to nothing as Harry - the real Harry - spoke for the first time in many months.

"We'll leave you alone then," said the other guard/healer kindly, knowing as they did that Harry was rarely lucid, and often for only short periods of time. It had been well before Christmas, eight months earlier, since he had uttered so much as a single comprehensible thought to anyone.

Hermione barely heard the door close behind her as she settled herself once more on the floor, pulling Harry onto her lap as she did. "I'm here Harry."

"Wh-where am - " his question faded, his voice sounding as dry as the desert winds.

"St Mungo's Harry," she replied softly understanding his unfinished query, as she conjured a plastic cup and some water which she passed to Harry's shaking hand. "You're - you're not well," she finished, her voice cracking with emotion as she uttered the wholly inadequate turn of phrase, that did little to convey the seriousness of his condition.

Harry gulped his drink greedily, his eyes closing as he savoured to cool liquid running down his throat. "How long?" he asked, his voice steadier, but still the merest of whispers.

Tears flowed copiously down Hermione's face. If anything it was harder seeing him this way than in the grips of his delusions. "Six years," she choked out as she fought to stay in control of her emotions.

The ghost of a smile fluttered across Harry's pale features. "Hermione - " he muttered sadly, reaching a single finger up to trace the line of her jaw, pulling it away a moment later moist with tears. " - I'm so sorry."

Hermione's emotional damn collapsed with his last words. _Damn it Harry!_ she raged internally, as outwardly her body was racked with uncontrolled sobs._ Always so noble. Just come back to me!_

Their roles briefly reversed, Harry shifted into a sitting position and cradled her until her tears were spent. "I - I've missed y-you so much," she hiccuped sometime later once she was able to speak again.

Harry knew words could never be enough to convey his feelings towards the woman who was both his best friend, carer andlover, so, by way of reply he cupped his hand under her chin so that he could lock his emerald eyes with her chestnut ones, and tried to pour every emotion he felt for her into that one look, hoping she would recognise them for what they were.

He got his answer when Hermione gasped, and pulled him into a tender embrace. "Oh Harry," she moaned softly, as he too wrapped his arms around her.

How long they stayed like that Hermione could not say. Long enough, she reflected afterwards, for her to foolishly hope that she would not need to instigate the plan she had been working on for more than a year. A plan that, she believed, would bring Harry back to her for good.

Those naive delusions were brought to a crashing end as she felt Harry's body tense around her, the cells magical enchantments reacting to his abrupt change of demeanour by reverting the floor and walls to the soft padded material designed to prevent The-boy-who-lived from injuring himself.

"Stay with me Harry!" she called frantically, kneeling beside his body as he now lay on the floor.

Realising what was happening she gripped his chin between her thumb and forefinger and turned his face towards her once more in an attempt to reach out to him. But where before his emerald eyes had shone with unspoken love and sorrow, they had now retaken the glazed, faraway look he normally wore - his inner torments once more hidden deep inside - not even the merest flicker of recognition visible.

Hermione made her decision. "Harry my love," she crooned, stroking his black hair once more. "I - I have to go away for a little while now, and I d-don't know when I'll be back." she said, hating herself for lying to him; she knew with almost complete certainty that she would never return to this place. Forcing her voice to remain somewhat even and controlled she added, "I love you."

She placed a single chaste kiss on his lightning bolt scar before standing and calling for the guards, who opened the door swiftly from the outside.

Forcing herself not to look back, knowing her will would falter if she did, Hermione squared her shoulders and strode from the room, certain that, one way or another, she would never return.

As she turned the corner towards the lift, a single strangled cry she recognised as Harry, reached her ears;

"HERMIONE!"

She broke into a flat run in an attempt to escape the maniacal screams of her best friend. Objectively she knew he didn't know - couldn't know - what she was planning to do. He was merely reliving yet another past hell - possibly her own torture at the hands of Belatrix Lestrange - but his coincidental screams for her almost sent her running in the opposite direction back to him.

The doors to the lift parted and she stepped inside, almost without breaking stride, the tortuous sound of Harry's anguished cries only cutting off once the doors had closed and lift had begun it's decent.

Shooting off a quick freezing spell, Hermione halted the decent of the compartment, providing her with at least the illusion of solitude. She leant her shoulders against the wall of the lift car, slowly sliding to the floor as she did so, pulling her knees up towards her with her arms once she rested on the floor.

There she stayed for several hours, weeping uncontrollably.

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><p><strong><em>Author Musings<em>**

_Hello all. This was my first attempt at a Harry/Hermione romantic tale. I'm fairly pleased with the end result and I can promise you it doesnt stay this bleak for long. I'm re-editing the story now in an attempt to fix any mistakes I missed at the time, but feel free to PM me if you noticed anything still amiss._


	2. Chapter 2  Giants of Calanais

_Disclaimer? Check out chapter one. I don't wanna keep reminding myself I do this for free!_

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><p><strong>Chapter Two - Giants of Calanais<strong>

It was after nightfall when Hermione had finally cried herself dry and travelled back to her single room lodgings just off Diagon Alley. Noting gratefully, that Ron had not dropped by, she unlocked the door and checked the wards.

Why she went to the trouble of warding the dingy space she did not know, it was not as if the tiny room held anything of any real value she realised as she glanced around the room. It was simply a habit she had formed during those dark days late in the war - one which, to this day, she had never attempted to break.

The grimy space consisted of a single bed, a small kitchenette and a separate W/C. There wasn't even a window - not a real one at any rate. The landlord had installed a small magical window, able to display any scene the viewer wished, several years beforehand, but by the time Hermione had come to rent the room it had been broken for many months, and she had never requested it be repaired. She had no desire to look out upon the rest of the world as they happily went about their lives with their friends and family, when her life had been on hold for ten long years.

A quick summoning spell gathered the few possessions she required - it wasn't as if she could take anything with her where she was going - and they flew smoothly into the open rucksack at her feet.

Hefting the now weighty bag onto her shoulder, the soft clinking of crystals confirmed to her that she had the items she needed, and she took one last, emotionless look around the room. Never, not in over three years of residing here, had she once considered, or called this place home. Her home, she had come to realise, was anywhere that Harry was.

Taking two parchment envelopes from her frayed and tattered robes, she placed the first on the small circular table that stood in the kitchenette; it was addressed to her landlord. If her plan went awry, the last thing she wanted was for the kindly old man to be out of pocket, so she had enclosed three months worth of rent in her letter terminating their lease agreement. _Practical to the end?_ her inner voice taunted once more.

Ignoring the bothersome voice she regarded the other envelope in silence. This was addressed simply; _To Ron_. After a moment of consideration, she placed his letter on top of the first a moment later, her momentary hesitation however revealing her continued inner doubts regarding her plan.

She had written dozens of iterations of the letter to her other best friend in the build up to her departure tonight. Some long and heartfelt, others direct and honest, but none had been able to convey her feelings for him - a friend, a brother - her hopes that he alone of the trio might be able to get his life back on track.

Instead she had managed only two words; _I'm sorry._

It was her vehement hope however, that Ron would never need to read the wholly inadequate note anyway. If she succeeded in her endeavour tonight, she intended to save Ron as surely as surely as she hoped to save Harry.

Her last thought made hope flare up within her once more, causing her resolve to solidify. She hadn't, until that very moment, completely believed she could follow through with her plan, but without so much as a backwards glance, Hermione strode from the small room, dissapparating with a soft pop as soon as she was beyond the anti-apparation wards.

oOo

She appeared on a deserted hillside in the dead of night. The moon had yet to rise, shrouding her surroundings in a blanket of black, her eyes straining and failing to identify the ancient structure she knew stood nearby in the darkness.

Only the smell of the peaty earth, and the nearby sounds and smells of the sea, confirmed that she had apparated to the correct location.

As her eyes adjusted to the limited illumination on offer from the starlight, the hulking outline of dozens of ancient standing stones rose out of the peat before her, like frozen giants. A Mona Lisa smile graced her lips as she recalled that, in local folklore at least, that is exactly what the megalithic formation was thought to be; giants turned to stone by Saint Kieran when they had refused to convert to Christianity. The reality of the sites origin though, was very different, although perhaps even more remarkable.

Overhead, a shooting star traced its way towards the horizon, distracting her from her musings - a meteor fragment from the Perseid shower she knew objectively. But despite her intellectual understanding of the phenomena, she permitted herself a few moments of quiet contemplation as she observed the night sky as it was peppered with trails of light. She marvelled at how such beauty could be created from such a destructive force - namely the complete obliteration of tiny rock fragments as they burnt up in the earths upper atmosphere.

The irony of that beauty was not lost on her; she planned to do much the same here tonight, albeit in reverse. If she succeeded, she would take the beautiful and peaceful world her actions had helped create and destroy it; destroy it, all for the sake of one man.

_"Ye know nothing at all, Nor consider that it is expedient for us, that one man should die for the people, and that the whole nation perish not."_

The two millennia old words of Caiaphas floated across her mind unbidden, their approximate translation in more modern tongue; The needs of the many, outweighs the needs of the one.

_But not to me,_ she thought ardently as she tore her eyes away from the vista of the night sky. Over the years she had grown to accept, despite the inner moral arguments she'd had with herself, that the joy of the many meant nothing to her unless the one, her one – Harry - could share in that happiness.

It did not seem fair, to put it mildly, that the man who had sacrificed everything for the magical world, including his own life, had been rewarded with an extended stay in a mental institution with a broken mind, as a result of his heroics.

A broken mind that Hermione believed she had traced back to one tipping point during her friendship with Harry - Cedric Diggory's death.

Having sorted through her recollections with a fine tooth comb, it was this moment she believed that had put Harry on the path towards his current fate. His demeanour had changed dramatically after that incident at the conclusion of the tri-wizard cup, his moods becoming darker and more aggressive in the months that followed. He had also become far more prone to angry outbursts, often directed at those around him; the summer before fifth year had left her feeling afraid for, and occasionally, afraid _of_ Harry.

It was a change that had accelerated after Sirius's death; a man Harry had come to look upon as a surrogate Father of sorts. Harry had confided to her in the days after the Battle of the Department of Mysteries, that he had, in a fit of rage, attempted to unleash an unforgivable curse towards Belatrix Lestrange.

She had been shocked at his revelation, but had supported him, patiently pointing out that he had been unable to muster enough malice required for the curse to cause his quarry any real pain. Harry had remained unconvinced, as, in truth had she - she had never believed Harry capable of using such a spell against another human being.

In the months and years that followed however, she had, perhaps naively believed, that Harry had learnt to cope with his grief; after all, even when faced with a confrontation with Voldemort himself, Harry had employed a simple disarming spell to defeat the dark lord. But she had been wrong.

It had all been an act. Or perhaps more precisely, Harry always had something to distract him from having to confront his inner demons; Dumbledore's Army during their fifth year; his single minded and dogged investigation of Draco Malfoy in what would prove to be their last year of schooling; and of course the Horcrux hunt that occupied them for almost a year. All of them had offered Harry a welcome distraction from facing the guilt that he refused to deal with, as so many that loved, cared and protected him fell in the fight against the darkness.

But it was at the end of the war, when there was nothing left to do but grieve, that Harry had seemed disconnected somehow. It was only many years later that Hermione realised the significance Harry had placed on the death of both the House-Elf Dobby, who had been as close a friend as he'd ever had, and that of his other surrogate Father figure, Remus Lupin, and his wife, Nymphadora Tonks, leaving their infant child an orphan - just as he had been.

His withdrawal from public life had started soon afterwards.

This realisation had led her down a path that brought her to this barren hillside near Loch Róg, on the Isle of Lewis, at Scotland's western most point; a path which had been born from one question - _what if we had done things differently?_

Tonight was the 7th August 2010, and whilst it was true that her motivations in coming to this spot did indeed come from the heavens, it had nothing to do with the coincidental start of the meteor shower overhead. She had come to the the site of Tursachan Calanais - an ancient stone megalithic complex - to utilise the ancient power held within the millennia old stones.

They were known locally as the Stonehenge of the north, but, the Standing Stones of Callanish, to give them their modern name, were far more important than their southern counterpart. Whilst they were not particularly unique in their outward appearance from the dozens of similar monuments in the Outer Hebbridies alone, they did posses one significant difference from the thousands of standing stones they had inspired ancient man to erect in imitation throughout the world - they were constructed for the explicit purpose of facilitating time travel.

She had been researching possible methods of time travel, having decided several years before hand that only there would she be able to save Harry from his awful fate, when she had literally stumbled across the written records of an ancient Greek wizard who had left detailed instructions as to how he had achieved that very feat.

The muggles knew this man as Diodorus Siculus, a historian, who had created a comprehensive universal history of their world - _Bibliothēkē_. But, whilst the muggles of the time were aware of his profession, they had no idea of the truth that allowed him to create such a detailed catalogue of events dating back generations before his birth. Siculus was a time traveller.

He was not the first by any means, his own writings indicated he had stumbled across a similar set of instructions from an even more ancient wizard; Xpóvos. Hermione had translated that ancient word as Chronos, but it was a mark of how far she herself had fallen into depression, that her intellectual curiosity was not peaked in the slightest by the fact that she appeared to have uncovered written evidence proving that muggle mythology's depiction of Chronos as the Father of Time had, at least some basis in fact.

Chronos it seemed had calculated, with unerring accuracy, seven sites in the ancient world where future planetary alignments would be most visible from earth. Envoys had then been sent to those sites to enlist the assistance of the local non-magical population to construct these temples for the purpose of channelling the power of the planets, thus opening a portal to the past.

Inspired by those first monuments, the ancient peoples of the world had constructed hundreds more of their own, but only the original seven would serve as a time portal.

Hermione was certain that Tursachan Calanais was one such site. Having cleared the build up of millennia of peat from the bottom of the stones on a previous visit, she had uncovered the time worn engravings which resembled several dialects of ancient runes she was familiar with. But even if she had doubted her somewhat vague translation of these marks - _the place where time stands still _- there could no longer be any doubt as to the authenticity of the site; she could literally feel the magic reverberating through the ancient stones as the six planets -Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn and Uranus - approached their closest alignment.

From above Tursachan resembled a compass, with a central stone surrounded by a circular formation, beyond which were four rows of stones moving away at ninety degrees to one another, pointing north, south, east and west respectively. At some point during the site's five thousand year history, several of the smaller stones had been robbed out or removed for ploughing, and it was another mark of her desperation to utilise the last major planetary alignment for several years to instigate her jump to the past, that she had not even attempted to calculate how detrimental those losses would prove to the structures ability to send her back through time.

_But what if it doesn't work without them? _Her inner voice taunted her.

_It has to work, _was the only response she could give.

Hermione lit her torch with a silent Lumos, and made her way towards the western most point of the structure, reaching into her ruck sack to retrieve the first of four crystals she had acquired from Bill Weasley. He had used his connections as a Gringotts curse breaker to locate and collect the rare crystals for her; crystals almost as ancient as the stone circle itself.

She pushed down a wave of guilt as she ran a hand over the smooth, time worn, surface of the crystal. Even after she had ended her stillborn relationship with Ron, the Weasley clan had continued to treat her as something of a second daughter, and she had been included in the many happy family moments; Arthur and Molly's fortieth wedding anniversary; George's marriage to Angelina Johnson; and the birth of the many Weasley Grandchildren – only Ginny, Ron and Charlie didn't have children of their own. Her guilt stemming from the fact that if she succeeded in her plan, that happiness would be snuffed out, returning them to a world still haunted by the shadow of Voldemort. The only thing that made that guilt bearable, was her belief that she might be able to save Fred Weasley from his fate.

Standing on tip toes she placed it into a small nook cut into the stone about two metres above the ground. She then moved in turn, guided by the bobbing light from her wand, to the remaining points of the compass where she repeated the process, her ruck sack emptied by the time she placed the fourth crystal on the northern most stone.

Shooting a quick glance at her wrist watch, she noted the time was fast approaching midnight, coincidentally the moment of closest planetary alignment, a realisation which sent her eyes racking the skyline once more, her gaze quickly picking up the tiny pinpricks of light all closely clustered in the sky that were the planets - or at least those visible from earth.

_It's time_, she realised, slightly surprised to note the anxiety she expected to feel was absent.

Pointing her wand at her hand she intoned the first of two spells she would need to cast that night, "Duro."

Her wand tip now as hard as steel, she placed it's tip on her left palm, and with a single motion drew it across her hand. A hot wetness, accompanied by a searing pain told her she had succeeded in cutting her palm open. Following the instructions she had translated from Siculus, she placed the open wound on the rock behind her, leaving the grey stone smeared with scarlet as she pulled her hand away.

She didn't bother to heal her wound, in fact she discarded her wand on the soft earth, knowing as she did, that with her blood now keyed to the stones, they would now act as the focus for the magical energies of her core - many times more powerfully in fact, than her wand could ever permit her to do.

Levelling her gaze towards the western stone, just visible in the gloom, she spoke the final ancient Greek incantation that would create the portal; "Anatrepō."

A peculiar sensation, somewhat like anxiety butterflies, formed within her heart, expanding to encompass her whole chest, the feeling continuing to grow like an ocean swell.

With each passing second the sensation became increasingly uncomfortable, borderline painful, as the magical energy within her seemed to be restricted by, and pushing against, the inside of her ribcage.

She opened her lips to cry out, but no sound came forth, so tight did her torso now feel that she felt like she couldn't breathe. _Not felt,_ she realised dimly as her legs buckled and she collapsed to her hands and knees, _can't._

Try as she might she could not draw breath, her vision blurring as a result as her brain screamed out for oxygen.

_Its gone wrong. I've failed,_ she realised sadly, a single tear tracing down her cheek. _Goodbye Harry._

But as her arms gave out and she collapsed to the soft earth, she felt, rather than saw, a huge surge of magical energy discharge from her body. A beam of white light emanated from her and streaking its way across the space between herself and the western most stone. It's energies striking the crystal held upon it as Hermione's eyesight cleared and she pushed herself up off the heather.

Moving quicker than her eyes could follow accurately, the beam continued it's anti-clockwise path around the crystals she had carefully positioned, before being returned to it's point of origin by the eastern most crystal, creating a perfect diamond as the beam struck the crystal above her head.

For a brief moment the world around her flared into pure brilliant white, the image of the standing stones burnt for ever more into her retina in the perma-day, before her world, and the world around her faded to black as her body crumpled to the floor, her eyes open but unseeing.

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><p><em>AN_

_OK its another time travel story – sorry! I can at least promise a bit of a twist to the use of time travel as a plot device. _

_For anyone that is wondering, Anatrepō, translates as something along the lines of 'to undo' or 'to overturn' which seemed appropriate considering Hermione's task. _

_Oh and both Tursachan Calanais and Diodorus Siculus exist, the first written mention of the standing stones coming from Siculus's own universal history. I've also taken a bit of artist licence with the meteor shower and the planetary alignment, in reality the two events were separated by a few days – so sue me!_


	3. Chapter 3 Message in a Bottle

_Disclaimer – If someone wants to, you know, give me the rights to Harry Potter, I'd happily accept. Until then, I do not own Potter. Got it? Good. Stop asking! _

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><p><strong>Chapter Three – Message in a Bottle<strong>

Hermione woke abruptly from a sleep she did not recall entering, her subconscious mind immediately riffling through the images that had been swimming across her mind during sleep, apparently causing her to wake prematurely. _Did I really just witness a future as yet unwritten?_ she wondered. _Harry a shell of a man? My own death?_

She kept her eyes tightly shut, in the hope that she could shake off the disquieting sensation that the nightmare had left her with and return to sleep. She noted dimly that it must still be very early; there wasn't a sound around her, and, through her closed eyelids, she could sense the darkness pressing in on her from all sides.

In the few moments that passed before her awaking mind could achieve full conciousness, the disturbing images began to slip away from her (as visions in dreams so often do in the waking world). With it, the uneasy feelings she had awoken to also dissipated quickly, as the memories of the vision faded, like trying to hold onto water in an open palm.

_Water_.

Instead of embracing sleep once more, her mind latched onto the word; her concious mind shrugging off sleep as it pushed itself to the surface, forcing her to open her eyes.

What she saw when she did so, nearly shocked her into drawing the breath she realised instinctively would kill her.

_I'm still dreaming_! she thought wildly. But even as the thought coalesced in her mind, she knew it to be false. She was cognisant of the water in her mouth; felt the crushing weight of the water pushing on her body from all sides – she was clearly under many meters of water.

Trying not to panic, she attempted to calm her racing heartbeat to conserve her lungs remaining supply of oxygen, whilst she tested the bonds she perceived restraining her wrists and ankles but found herself intractably confined.

Before her, lit by the eerie green light that could only be created deep underwater, hung dozens, if not hundreds of of Selkies – Merpeople as they were often incorrectly, but generically called. Despite the silence that seemed to be pressing in on her from all sides she could hear the lilting song that a smaller group of merpeople, a choir perhaps, were singing;

_'...your times half-gone, so tarry not_

_Lest what you seek stays here to rot...'_

_The second task!_ she realised, although her oxygen starved brain was slow to make the link between the eggs song and her current situation.

_'...We've taken what you'll sorely miss,_

_An hour long you'll have to look...'_

So that means Harry should be nearby, she realised turning her head – the only part of her body that wasn't bound – to search her nearby surroundings. Sure enough her eyes fell upon the familiar form of her best friend, who was working on cutting through the ropes that held the apparently still sleeping form of her other best friend, Ron Weasley.

_Harry_! she thought, as her heart performed a little drum roll against her ribs; the same pathetic flip flop it had done almost every time she had laid eyes on him since their first meeting on the Hogwarts express four years earlier. It was a constant source of irritation to her that she had never been able to be honest about her feelings for him, either to him or to herself. _It'__s just a crush_, she told herself repetitively, hoping that she might eventually believe the almost mantra-like saying she told herself most days.

Ironically, it was that attempt to persuade herself that she was not attracted to Harry, that had directly led to her current predicament. When it became clear that neither Harry, or even Ron, had noticed that their best friend was actually a girl whilst they dithered over finding a date for the Yule Ball, she had accepted an invitation to the dance from the Durmstrong champion, Viktor Krum. He was nice enough, truth be known, but she certainly didn't feel anything more than friendship towards the Bulgarian - certainly nothing that suggested that she would be the thing that he would 'sorely miss'. Yet here she was, and Viktor was nowhere in sight.

Pulling herself back to the moment, she attempted to call out to Harry, but only a stream of bubbles issued from her lips as she tried to yell out. She realised dimly that her heart's skipped beat owed as much to her unspoken feelings for Harry as it did with a lack of oxygen; her lungs ached in protest as she continued to hold her breath, knowing if she didn't she would surely perish.

Harry's head spun in her direction, perhaps attracted by the jet of bubbles that teemed from her mouth. He had just succeeded in freeing Ron from the ropes that bound her to the same, crude, merperson statue that she was bound to herself, but in his surprise at seeing Hermione awake and vainly struggling against her bonds, he dropped the jagged rock that he had utilised to cut through the coarse ropes to the murky lake bed.

Despite her own desperate situation, she was pleased to note that Harry had obviously found a way of surviving underwater for an extended period of time; a way that neither she or Ron had discovered in their research on his behalf before they had been escorted away by Professor McGonagall to be placed, in what Professor Dumbledore had explained, would be a sort of deep hibernation until they were rescued by one of the champions. His hands were webbed and his feet were more like flippers. His neck sporting a set, of what could only be described, as gills. His raven hair, which matched the inky blackness all around, floated in all directions above his head, and his green eyes were wild with shock and fear as he took stock of the fact that Hermione was very clearly awake and struggling against her bindings.

"Hermione!" he silently called out in panic.

He swam first to the lake floor, where he retrieved his cutting tool, before swimming to her side, where he began to frantically hack at the thick ropes that held her wrists and ankles in place. But even as he did so Hermione knew his valiant efforts were in vain. Water was pouring into her mouth, filling her throat. She felt dizzy, and her vision was receding to a single point of dim light. _I'm going to drown._

Accepting her fate unhappily, her eyes drifted shut and her head lolled forward, as the world around her turned to nothingness, and she waited for the inevitable end.

But, instead of conciousness slipping further away from her, she noted, with no small degree of jubilation, that her senses were sharpening, the sounds and esthesis of the underwater world returning to her once more, and she felt, rather than saw, one particular sensation that she had most desired for almost as long as she had known her best friend:

Harry, was kissing her.

She opened her eyes and pulled him closer.

But Harry did not tighten their embrace. Instead he tensed and placed his hands on her shoulders, locking his emerald eyes with hers, a look of confusion mingled with curiosity etched on his features.

_He's not kissing me_, she realised, pushing away a ridiculous wave of disappointment at the revelation. _He's saving my life!_

To his credit, Harry, despite his obvious confusion, did not break contact with her lips, and she savoured the feeling of the cool, clean air, his gilled lungs had drawn from the water, as it reinvigorated her body.

Locking her eyes with his once more, she gave him a subtle nod to indicate she had taken her fill, and they broke apart.

Harry gracefully performed a mid-water flip so that he was inverted and returned to his task of hacking the ropes apart, but almost as soon as he did so, Hermione noted in her peripheral vision, that several green haired merpeople were rapidly approaching them, reaching out half a dozen pairs of grey hands to pull him away from her.

"Leave the others," said one of the Selkies. "Save only your own hostage." They punctuated their point by laughing at Harry – it was obvious they had not registered that Hermione was awake.

Hermione read Harry's angry retort on his lips; "No Way!" although only two bubbles escaped. "She can't breathe!" he yelled, but Hermione was certain the merperson would have no idea what he said, as she certainly couldn't decipher it through the angry stream of bubbles. "You've got until three!"

Harry punctuated his last indecipherable statement by raising three fingers menacingly. Hermione immediately understood, as obviously, did the Selkies, for they had stopped laughing at Harry and were looking frightfully towards his wand.

Dumbledore had assured her that neither they, the hostages, nor the champions would come to any harm bellow the waves, but obviously the Selkies were uncertain whether or not that promise of safety extended to them, confronted as they were by an obviously furious young wizard.

"One..." (he put down a finger) - "two..." (he put down a second) -

The merpeople scattered and Harry darted forwards and began to hack at the ropes that bound Hermione once more, a short while later she was free and she instinctively kicked her legs to maintain her position to counter the drag of her heavy Hogwarts robes.

Harry grabbed her shoulders once more searching her eyes, his obvious unspoken question; _are you alright._

Hermione was about to mouth that she was once again short of air, when she was interrupted by the excited murmurs of the remaining merpeople, several of whom were pointing into the gloom. Both she and Harry followed the line of their outstretched arms to catch sight of a form growing out of the gloom – Cedric Diggory. His features were strangely elongated, distorted as they were, behind a large bubble that covered his head.

"Got lost." he said to Harry with a shrug, before he added when he noted that Hermione was concious. "Do you need help?"

Harry appeared to be about to nod his head in the affirmative when inspiration hit her. Tapping Harry's shoulder, she held out her open palm for Harry's wand – he acquiesced without a second thought.

Pointing the unfamiliar wand at her head she cast a silent bubble head charm, an instant later her lungs filling with cold, but fresh and clean air.

Both Cedric's and Harry's eyebrows shot to their forehead's, their unspoken questions – _how? _– evident on their features.

"I don't know." she said aloud, her voice sounding very loud to her own ears in the confined space. It was the truth; she knew with certainty that she had never even read about the clearly advanced magic that was the bubble head charm. If she had, she would have certainly told Harry about it. Yet somehow, she had not only been able to cast it successfully, but also silently – a NEWT level skill – a skill she had never before attempted.

However, although she could now breathe freely, it was a mystery that would have to wait for a more opportune moment to consider. Harry was still competing after all.

Cedric, realising that his assistance was not required, had, in the meantime, succeeded in freeing Cho, and was already being lost to the gloom as they made their way towards the surface. "Harry! Come on. You've got to go!" she yelled, gesturing to the receding figures.

That seemed to break the spell that had held Harry in place, and grabbing Hermione by the waist he kicked his webbed feet, swiftly swimming to Ron's side, grabbing the still insensate Gryffindor by the neck of his robes, and began dragging them both towards the unseen surface many meters above them.

"Harry, wait!" she called, a sudden realisation settling across her. If she had broken out of the spell which held her deep in hibernation bellow the waves, surely it was possible that the same could happen to the silver haired girl, who could only be Fleur's younger sister, who, alone of the hostages, remained bound to the statue.

To Harry she said, "Krum and Fleur haven't made it. We've got to get her out of here in case she wakes up like I did. You saw the merpeople – they didn't seem to realise what was happening to me."

Harry's expression hardened into an expression she knew well; a look she had inwardly term his 'saving people' look. His mouth set into a thin, determined line, he nodded his agreement and made to hand Ron's unconscious form to Hermione, obviously intending to hack through the girls bonds as he had done for both Ron and herself.

She shook her head vehemently and pointed Harry's wand, which she still held in her hand, towards the girls bindings. Harry nodded his understanding and edged back slightly. Hermione performed a quick, silent cutting charm, and the youngster was soon floating free.

Harry took Ron, and Hermione, after unfastening her cloak to reduce her drag, grabbed the youngest Delacour around the waist, and the quartet rose slowly to the surface.

It was tortuously slow work. Neither she or Harry had use of their arms, and soon her breathing became hard and laboured, the sound of the blood rushing through her ears sounding unnaturally loud in the confines of the bubble.

She glanced over at Harry, noting he too was struggling despite the advantage of his webbed feet – the gills on the side of his neck working furiously to draw in enough precious oxygen to keep his legs pumping as he pulled against the dead weight of his unconscious friend.

All around them, the shapes of dozens of merpeople, swam upwards with them, circling them as they went – Hermione had a brief and foolish vision of them pulling her back down to the depths to await her own champion to rescue her.

Hermione's legs felt like lead as they filled with lactic acid, and she began to fall behind Harry as the effort to keep swimming upwards sapped her of what remained of her reserves.

Harry put on a spurt of speed as the gloom began to lighten, and she could see why; Harry's gills had disappeared, his propulsion now coming from normal, unwebbed feet. _He can't breathe!_ she realised.

Matching him stroke for stroke, Hermione ignored the pain in her limbs and chest, and pulled level with him, ready to push him the last ten feet if she needed to.

_Come on Harry, _she thought furiously. _We've got to get there...we've got to get there...we've got to -_

They broke the surface simultaneously, her bubble charm dissipating as soon as her head was above the water, and they both gulped down great lungfuls of air as all around them dozens of merpeople emerged from the water, their teeth bared, although somehow Hermione knew that this was not a gesture of confrontation – but a smile.

Over the noise of the crowd, which was very loud and raucous, Hermione noted that Ron and the girl had awoken; "Wet, this, isn't it?" said Ron expelling a great spout of water from his mouth, before he turned and noticed both Hermione and Fleur's sister, who was also awake and appeared unharmed, if a little scared. "What did you bring them for you prat?" he asked, irritation evident in his voice.

Hermione felt her ire rise, as it often did around the youngest Weasley son – he could be downright tactless sometimes. "Harry just saved my life you insensitive baboon, Ronald Weasley!" retorted Hermione angrily. "Maybe yours too! The hibernation spell failed. I woke up. I – I nearly d -drowned," her voice faltered as the realisation of just how close to death she had come pushed her anger aside.

"I – I didn't know," muttered Ron, casting his eyes downwards, suitably chastised.

But Hermione barely heard him, her attention now riveted on Harry who had swum closer to her, and once more clasped her by the shoulders at arms length, regarding her with that same look of confused curiosity he had in the depths of the lake.

"Hermione," he said, his voice low and clogged with emotion.

She had never heard him sound so shaken up; not even after facing Quirrell; or saving Sirius from the dementors; or even the horror of facing Tom Riddle - Voldemort himself – in the Chamber of Secrets. To Harry she said soothingly; "Its OK Harry. I'm fine. You saved me."

He shook his head slightly, a subtle motion that only she could detect, his emerald eyes flashing with an emotion she couldn't read.

"I don't know what I would have done if - " but what ever else he had intended to say was lost as his lips crashed against hers.

For the second time in less than an hour Hermione couldn't breathe. Her heart seemed to melt in her chest, and she was certain that if she had been standing her knees would have buckled. She wrapped her arms behind him, entwining her fingers though his wet hair, tightening their embrace, recognising that this was very different from the 'kiss' she thought they had shared far bellow. This was loving; _passionate_. The world around them shrank away as they surrendered to the moment, neither of them aware of the cat calls, whoops and occasional jeers from the stands.

After what felt like a lifetime, but conversely no time at all, they broke apart. Hermione was certain that the goofy, lopsided grin etched on Harry's features was replicated on her own.

"Don't mind us," came Ron's sullen voice, breaking their moment. "Give us a hand with her will you. I don't think she can swim too well," he finished, indicating the young girl he held securely at the waist.

"Yeah. Sure. No problems Ron," said Harry, almost succeeding in sounding normal, although the pink tinge to his cheeks gave away how embarrassed he was.

_I'm going to have to have a talk with Ron,_ Hermione decided as she paddled in behind them, not being able to fail to notice the elephant in the room that now stood between the two friends as they pulled the youngster backwards towards the bank. _I won't let his life turn out as it did before._

It was only several hours later, that Hermione had pause to question her last thought. For despite the impossibility of it, she knew, with cast iron certainty, that Ron's obvious jealousy would lead him down a road to depression and drink if she didn't do something. But how she knew that was quite another matter; one of several that she had added to her (growing) list of things to mull over.

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><p><em><strong>Author Musings<strong>_

_So that's one question answered then. Future Hermione's time travel attempt failed, but she was at least successful in imprinting some of her memories on fifteen year old Hermione's mind._

_I didn't want this to be a straight 'puts right what once went wrong' time travel story, and this seems as good a way of avoiding that as any. I'm told by my reviewers it actually quite unique. _

_Some have wondered where Viktor was in all of this as he turns up after Cedric in canon. In my mind, that is exactly what happens again, but Harry and Hermione are already on their way to the surface by then._


	4. Chapter 4 Shine a Light

**Chapter Four – Shine a Light**

Hermione lay atop the bedsheets of her four poster bed, wrapped only in a towel, having permitted herself the luxury of the longest, hottest, shower of her life after her trials at the bottom of the of the loch; an icy cold loch in the middle of a Scottish winter to be exact.

A small smile graced her lips as she recalled Harry's parting words to her; _"Haven't you seen enough of the wet stuff today, Hermione? Personally I don't intend to bathe for a month!"_ The fact that he was holding her hand as he said it, made her smile grow wider, and the memory of the quick kiss he had planted on her lips before she all but floated up the spiral staircase, turned her smile into a wide, toothy grin.

Neither of them had been alone long enough to talk about the change in the status of their friendship since the end of the second task, but, she was pleased to note, the evolution of that relationship hadn't altered the dynamics between them noticeably as his cheeky comment had proven.

At the conclusion of the task, and after conversing with the Selkie chieftainess in Mermish (in which he was apparently fluent), Professor Dumbledore and the other judges had awarded Harry forty-five points, much to the Dumstrung Highmaster, Igor Karkaroff's disgust.

His own champion, Viktor Krum, had returned from the depths empty-handed, seeing as Hermione had already made good her escape with Harry. Personally Hermione believed Viktors score of forty points was very generous, especially considering his attempt at self-transfiguration had only partially succeeded, and he had failed arrive at the underwater town square, let alone return to the surface with-in the hour.

But Karkaroff had been incensed; incensed by what he viewed as 'flagrant cheating'. The result, he argued, could not be validated when not all the champions had been permitted even the chance of rescuing their own hostages, and he had looked eagerly towards Madame Maxime at that point, obviously hoping, and expecting, support from her.

He was to be disappointed.

Fleur Delacour, who had been attacked by Grindylows, and had been unable to complete the challenge, had been awarded twenty-five points, leaving her in last place overall, although her relief that her younger sister, who they now knew as Gabrielle, was alive and well, did much to offset her disappointment. The beautiful French woman had been so overcome with emotion that she had kissed both Harry and Ron on the cheek in gratitude. The brief wave of jealousy that flared in her chest as she watched Harry – her Harry – blush furiously at the gesture, was counterbalanced by her satisfaction that Ron had been included in her thanks. His stammered admission that, in his words, he had 'helped...a bit', did seem to do much to distract him from his obvious jealousy that she and Harry were now together. I'm still gong to have to have that chat with him, she realised, feeling somewhat uncomfortable about having the '_I love you like a brother_' chat with her other best friend.

They had then been ushered up to the hospital wing by madame Pomfrey, who had administered several rounds of pepper-up potions to all the champions and hostages, as well as performing several rounds of tests. She had offered no comment when she approached Harry and Hermione to find them sitting very close, holding hands on the same infirmary bed, but the arch of her eyebrow gave away her surprise.

Soon the room looked like a scene from a muggle cartoon, with steam pouring from all of their ears as the potions went to work on warming their insides,whilst several house-elves appeared carrying new, freshly laundered robes, to warm their outsides. Hermione had almost refused to take the clean warm clothes, but Harry, very aware of her views on elvish welfare, gave her hand a squeeze and offered her a subtle shake of his head, and she accepted the robes without complaint, realising, as Harry obviously had, that now was not the time to pick a fight regarding elvish rights.

Finally, when they had been discharged from the gruff matrons care, they'd made their way directly to the Gryffindor common room, where Fred and George Weasley had initiated a huge celebratory party for Harry; a party she could still hear raging downstairs - no doubt led by Ron, who's version of events, which although had started off based in fact, now painted a very different picture. One in which her fulfilled the roll of hero. Her first instinct had been to admonish him for telling tall tales, but she had held her tongue. She knew the youngest Wealsy son often felt insecure, so she was happy to see him receiving some of the limelight.

And really, what harm could it do to embellish his part a bit? Especially if it saved him from a fate she had seen all too vividly in her minds eye.

Letting out a slightly theatrical sigh, she pushed herself up from the bed, forcing the vision of an older, bearded, and obviously drunken, Ronald Weasley from her mind, as her wet tangled hair fell against her bare shoulders.

_Maybe I should cut it? _she wondered, as she padded barefoot to her wardrobe to select some sleep ware.

Holding the towel across her chest to preserve her modesty (although she was alone in the girls dormitory), she bent down to retrieve a set of comfortable pyjamas, her temples pounding as she straightened with a headache that had been threatening to form for several hours, and she massaged her eyes with her thumb and index finger, in an attempt to relieve the pressure.

The source of the headache was no mystery to her. Her mind had been working feverishly all afternoon on the troubling developments of the past day – not least amongst them, the source of her apparent foreknowledge.

She had never once shown any indication that she might possess 'the sight' as the old fraud, Professor Trewlany, had called it. And whilst Hermione paid little heed to the theatrical antics of the figuratively and literally blind woman, she found, on this point at least, she agreed with her - Hermione Granger was not a seer. However, she could not ignore the multitude of strange occurrences that day. Not only had she had, what some would refer to, as a vision of Ron's pitiful future, she had also been able to conjure an effective bubble head charm without instruction or prior experience.

Having racked her eidetic memory, she now knew, with one hundred percent certainty, that she had never so much as seen a reference to the advanced charm, but she equally knew, despite the impossibility of it, that she had performed the same spell herself countless times before today.

She made a harrumphing noise, and attempted to shove the endlessly circling questions in her mind aside for a moment, knowing she would get no answers tonight, especially if she lay awake all night worrying about it.

Padding back to her bed with her pyjamas in the still deserted dorm, she slipped the bottoms on under her towel, only permitting it to drop to the floor once she had made a quick check over her shoulder to ensure the door to the stairs remained closed.

She pulled the right sleeve over her arm, but nearly jumped out of her skin a moment later when a knock sounded through the room. "Hang on!" she called, mortified at how high and panicky her voice sounded, as she tried to stuff her left arm in her sleeve whilst she attempted to cover her chest with her other arm.

The knocking sounded once more, but this time she discerned it's point of origin. Not the door as she had first suspected, but instead the window, where one of the school owls was perched, a note clearly visible tied to it's leg.

Fastening the last button on her pyjama top, Hermione smoothed the fabric out and then quickly flipped her still sopping hair into the towel securing it in a loose knot atop her head before padding across to the window. Unfastening the catch, the chill February air swept in ahead of the owl, the flesh of her arms goose bumping instantly.

Rubbing the exposed skin distractedly in an attempt to warm herself she slammed the window pane shut.

The owl; a brown barn owl, had settled on the foot board of her bed and had it's right leg extended, obviously indicating that the note was for her. Curious (she rarely got mail, and never outside of the great hall) she carefully removed and unfolded it, and scanned to the bottom of the notes loopy handwriting to locate the senders signature; _Albus Dumbledore._

Laying the smoothed out note on her bed she quickly rummaged through her trunk, locating at the very bottom, the few owl treats she always kept handy during school holidays to give to Hedwig, when she came bearing letters from Harry.

_Harry_. Her heart gave a little flutter, as the image of his face as he had been when they shared their first kiss - wet and bedraggled, panting from exertion - flashed across her mind. She smiled, noting for the first time in her life, she didn't have to try and convince herself that it was just a crush.

The owl let out an annoyed sounding chirp, either because she was ignoring the letter with a goofy grin on her face, or because she had yet to offer the bird one of the treats she now held in her palm.

Throwing a couple of the treats on the bed, she sat and picked up the note, hoping to satisfy the avian either way.

_Dear Miss Granger,_

_Firstly, allow me to convey my deepest regret that you were placed in jeopardy, albeit unintentionally. I have initiated an investigation into how the charm was broken, the results of which I hope to have by tomorrow evening. It is my hope that this may shine some light on why you, and you alone, were able to shrug off the effects of the powerful sleeping charm._

_If it would please you, I would like you to be present when I review the findings in my office after dinner tomorrow. It would also offer me an opportunity to gain a greater insight into how you were able to produce such a flawless bubble head charm at your tender age._

_If you can attend, please reply via return owl._

_Kindest regards_

_Albus Dumbledore_

Hermione could almost feel the headmasters eyes twinkling at her through the parchment, he apparently as intrigued as she was regarding the events of the last day.

She swiped a piece of parchment from her bedside table and hurriedly agreed. Perhaps the headmaster will be able to shed some light on all this, she pondered silently, and she refastened the note to the post owls leg, which hopped onto her extended forearm so that she could carry it to a window.

She reopened the windowpane, and a moment later the owl had swept through it once more. She watched it's silhouette, illuminated by the light of the waning crescent moon, sail away into the still night air, hopefully to bring some answers to the questions that had troubled her all day, only the returning chill on her exposed skin pulling her away from her silent musings.

She shut the window once more, and moved back to her bed, settling herself on it as she began to roughly towel dry her mop of curly hair.

Even with a good drying charm, it would take a lot of work to remove all the dampness before bed, and for the second time that evening her thoughts returned to the possibility of cutting it shorter as an image of herself, older and thinner, with short elfin hair style flashed across her mind unbidden.

She didn't have a chance to note that the mental image of her older self, appeared as it would have done as if she were looking at herself in an aged and mottled mirror. Nor did she recognise that the projection in her minds eye appeared to have been crying, as those thoughts were interrupted by the door inching open, an orange blur darting into the room through the crack.

"Hi Crookshanks." she offered, trying, and for the second time today, failing, to keep hold of the mental image in her mind - the thought slipping away from her like flour through a sieve. "Did you have a good nights hunting?" she finished as the flat faced cat bounded onto the bed, purring loudly and contentedly.

But instead of curling up on her lap as normal, the cat, that had once been described to her as either a giant cat, or a small tiger, froze, its lamp like eyes appearing to bore into her very soul, before it began hissing loudly at her, his bottlebrush tail standing on end.

"Wassamatter boy?" Hermione asked extending her hand to sooth her familiar – It was unlike Crookshanks to act so hostile to anyone other than the most untrustworthy. But before her hand had come within a foot of stroking Crookshanks ginger fur, the neazle cross had leapt from the bed and bounded from the room, hissing and spitting as he went.

Stunned by her pets strange behaviour, Hermione made to go after him but was halted halfway across the room by a stern voice booming up the spiral stair case, from the common room bellow. The party, she noted, had gone suddenly very quiet.

"...and lights out in five minutes, or I shall make it my personal business to ensure none of you are permitted on the next Hogsmeade visit," the familiar Scottish brogue of Professor McGonagall floated up the spiral staircase effectively ending Harry's victory party.

She heard grumbles of assent, and dozens of pairs of footsteps heading towards the dormitories.

Having no desire to relive the trying details of her day once more with her dorm mates, especially not those that pertained to her new boyfriend, she quickly stole back across the room and back to her bed where she drew the heavy hangings, feigning sleep.

Not that she was adverse to a little girl talk with her friends, but she didn't want to be interrogated on her relationship with Harry tonight - at least not until they themselves had had a chance to talk about it.

She would find crookshanks in the morning and apologise, realising she had been neglecting him somewhat, what with trying to help Harry with the second task, and her continuing work on S.P.E.W.

With her thoughts returning once more to Harry she lay her head against the soft pillow and soon was not feigning sleep at all.

That night, although unrememberable come the morning, her dreams were filled with images and visions her subconscious mind could not comprehend.

oOo

The following evening, Hermione strode the deserted corridors of the second floor, clutching the note from the previous evening, as she made her way towards the headmasters study, managing to resist the urge to skip – _just_. Today, after all, had been perhaps one of the best days of her life.

That morning her dorm mates had been awoken, groggy and bleary eyed, to the unmistakable sound of scissors sniping rhythmically.

Lavender Brown had been the first to crack open the curtains surrounding her bed that were a necessity in a draughty castle in mid-winter. The memory of her expression, once more returning a wide smile to Hermione's face as her feet carried her automatically through the darkened corridors.

"H-Hermione?" Lavender had managed to choke out in a voice that sounded as if someone had poured sand down her throat, as she squinted into the too bright sunlight, propping herself up on an elbow to get a better look at her friend.

Hermione had been standing before the full length mirror that hung behind the door to their dormitory, admiring her reflection, whilst a magically charmed pair of scissors laboured away at her once bushy brown hair.

"Good Morning Lavender," said Hermione cheerfully, turning to face her, a huge smile plastered across her features. "What do you think?"

Lavender had appeared lost for words, and Hermione knew exactly how she felt. She had never considered herself to be particularly beautiful before - truth be known, she had often thought herself slightly funny looking, what with her too large front teeth and her unruly hair. But the metamorphosis she had undergone for the Yule Ball, thanks, in no small part, to Madame Pomfrey shrinking her front teeth to be more in proportion, and a very liberal application of Sleakeazy's hair potion, had been completed by her new pixie hair style.

Her features now appeared more defined, and she adjudged that she looked a good five years older. Additionally, without the frame of hair surrounding her face, her chestnut eyes stood out vividly against her almost porcelain skin. Even if she did say so herself, she looked quite attractive.

"Wow Hermione. Just wow!" Lavender finally said, after starring at her dorm mate slack jawed for several moments. "You look great."

But that wasn't the best reaction her new look had received today. Not even Harry's Breakfast time reaction to her new look, which was both priceless and endearing, held that honour - although it was very sweet.

She had found him sat alone in the sparsely populated great hall, his mouth half open ready to receive the forkful of scrambled eggs he held, but when his gazed fell upon the transformed visage of his new girlfriend, he perfumed a comic double take, before promptly dropping his fork to the stone floor where it landed with a surprisingly loud clatter, causing every eye in the room to swing first to Harry, and then followed his eye line towards Hermione.

What happened next would remain, Hermione was sure, one of her happiest memories for as long as she lived. Harry, his mouth still hanging open at the same peculiar angle, had stood, covered the space between them in a handful of long strides, his emerald eyes burning with an emotion she could not accurately place.

But before she'd had a chance to analyse it further she had found herself in his arms, and then his lips had been on hers; a yearning, lingering kiss. "You look amazing," he had told her as they broke apart, their matching blushes owing to the surprisingly raucous uproar their embrace had caused amongst the few dozen pupils present.

But even Harry's response paled in comparison to the best reaction of the day. No, that honour went to Draco Malfoy, albeit for completely different reasons.

Towards the end of breakfast, the self styled lord of Slytherin house had approached the Gryffindor table with his ever present shadows at his side, whilst Hermione was bent over rummaging in her school bag, so that her back was towards the blonde.

"Excuse me," Draco had said politely, in a voice very unlike the usual sneering drawl he reserved just for her. "I don't believe we have met, and trust me," he added in a simpering voice. "I'd recall meeting someone as beautiful as you."

Hermione nearly spat her pumpkin juice across the floor as the Slytherin continued. "I was wondering if you'd accompany me to Hogsmeade next weekend?"

She'd felt Harry tense alongside her, even as the realisation that Draco Malfoy was hitting on her sank in, she could picture Harry wrapping his hand around his wand ready to hex the pompous prat into the middle of next week. Instead she gave her boyfriends leg a comforting squeeze and sat up straight, turning directly to face Malfoy.

"And why would an intelligent witch like me, want to date a bigoted ferret like you Malfoy?"

Malfoy's eyes had bulged in their sockets as he realised who he had been lusting over, a green tinge appearing on his cheeks, before he ran from the hall without a backwards glance leaving his bodyguards guffawing stupidly.

She had spent the rest of the day with Harry, walking the unseasonably warm grounds of the school, arm in arm.

They had spent most of the day talking; talking about the task, which Harry admitted he had received a great deal of help on from Dobby - Hermione suggesting they should buy the diminutive elf a present the next time they went to Hogsmeade, before her cheeks reddened at the realisation that the next time they went to the village, they would be going on as a couple; a date.

For her part, she had told Harry of how she had awoken to find herself starved of oxygen, convinced she was going to die, until he had saved her. Tears had run down her cheeks at that point and Harry had held her close, offering quiet reassurances into her ears. Once she had calmed herself he did question her on her use of advanced magic, but to her surprise, she found she could not recall the charm, either verbally or non-verbally, making her wonder if she'd even been responsible for it at all.

Harry suggested that the adrenaline of the moment had led to her digging deep inside her magical core to summon the charm to save her life; it was as likely cause as any other, she had agreed.

They also spoke of their relationship as they sat by the shore of the still waters of the lake which did not look anywhere near as oppressive or scary today. Hermione admitting aloud for the first time, that she had had a crush on Harry since first year; a crush that had developed into more during the rescue of Sirius at the end of their third year, although, for reasons she still could not discern, she had held herself back from admitting that she had loved him almost as long.

To her surprise Harry too admitted to liking her for almost as long, but it hadn't deepened for him until the Yule Ball. He actually seemed quite embarrassed by that fact;

"What kind of person does that make me Hermione?" he had asked. "Am I that shallow? Am I only interested in looks?"

"Harry," she'd countered soothingly. "My feelings didn't change for you that night we saved Buckbeak. It's not like I was attracted to you because you were being the hero, it's just I recognised my feelings for what they were that day, in the same way you recognised yours at the Yule Ball. If I'm honest Harry, I went to all that effort to impress you anyway, so I'm pleased you noticed."

The only blot on her otherwise perfect day was that, for the first time in living memory, Ron Weasley had not turned up for any meals in the great hall, his jealousy obviously motivating him to attempting to avoid the new couple all day long.

"You don't think he fancies you, do you?" Harry had asked.

"I don't think Ron even knows what he's feeling," she'd replied honestly. "But we're going to have to talk to him."

The rest of the day had passed blissfully, and having left Harry at Gryffindor tower with orders to find Ron and tie him to a chair until she got back if need be, she made her way happily to the stone gargoyle that stood guard at the entrance to the headmasters office, clutching a note with the password on it that the headmaster had sent to her at breakfast, wondering if she even needed to go anymore. The disquieting sensations of yesterday had passed, and Harry's explanation of her accidental magic was both logical and based in fact.

Lost in thought, Hermione didn't notice that her feet had carried her to the foot of the stone statue that stood menacingly in the torchlight until her feet brought her to a halt in front of it. She had never before visited the headmasters private tower, but she knew from what Harry had told her, that upon speaking the password - _Jelly Babies -_ the gargoyle would move aside to reveal a moving spiral staircase to carry visitors to the office.

It was those stairs Hermione rode now, self consciously arranging her hair and attire in preparation for her first one-on-one meeting with the wizened headmaster.

She was deposited at the top of the staircase facing a large oak door and she extended a fisted hand to knock, but a voice from inside halted her mid-action.

"Please come in young lady," came the unmistakable voice of Albus Dumbledore, and the heavy door swung open to reveal his office.

She stepped inside, her head swivelling in all directions as she took in the magnificent circular room, resplendid in its rich hues, it's walls covered either with portraits, whom she knew to be former heads of Hogwarts, or countless books set into bookcases that followed the curvature of the walls. She imagined her eyes were positively wide with excitement as she took in the great many tomes - many of which even the schools student library did not have copies of.

"I'm glad you appreciate my personal collection," said Dumbledore, obviously reading the expression on her face. "But alas, we have much to discuss aside from our mutual appreciation of the written word. Please, sit."

Hermione did as instructed, and took a seat in the winged arm chair that stood opposite the headmasters desk, feeling unaccountably nervous as she did.

The headmasters tone sounded as jovial as she had come to expect, but her subconscious was alerting her to several things that accounted for her nervousness in his presence. She couldn't fail to note that Dumbledore had foregone his customary greeting towards her (he usually addressed her as Miss Granger) in favour of 'Young Lady'.

Alone, that abnormality could be ignored; however, the fact that his jovial demeanour seemed somewhat forced to her ears, coupled with the absence of the all but permanent twinkle in his sapphire eyes, spoke to the fact that the headmaster was troubled by something.

"What's wrong sir?" she asked, noting with annoyance she had actually spoken her thoughts aloud.

Dumbledore, however, appeared unoffended. "You are very perceptive. It so happens that I have recently received some disturbing news regarding the tests I had madame Pomfrey run on you after the task."

Hermione's heart froze in her chest. _There's something wrong with me!_ she thought panicking, and she asked as much of the professor.

"No, no," Dumbledore responded as if surprised at her line of thought, and he waved the suggestion away distractedly with a half-hearted hand gesture. "The tests Madame Pomfrey ran show that you are in perfect health."

Hermione nodded in relief but said nothing, sensing the headmaster had more to add.

"However," continued Dumbledore proving her feelings correct. "The information I have received following my investigations, in addition to the very disturbing information that Severus has just relayed to me regarding ingredients stolen from his personal stores leads me to a very troubling conclusion." The headmaster paused as if expecting Hermione to say something whilst he regarded over his half moon spectacles, his blue eyes full of fire as he appeared to peer straight though her and into her very soul, but Hermione was at a complete loss so remained silent assuming the ancient wizard had more to add.

She was right.

"You see," began Dumbledore solemnly, "the results of the tests Madame Pomfrey performed on you after the second task show that you were never subjected to the hibernation charm - " he raised a hand to cut of Hermione's retort that that was impossible. " - that revelation," he continued without pause, "coupled with the theft of ingredients crucial for brewing polyjuice potion and he changes in your personal life which, if I may say so, appear some what out-of-character, lead me to the conclusion that you are not, Hermione Granger."

With his last words, and in a movement so fast that Hermione couldn't follow, the Headmasters wand had appeared in his hand as was levelled directly at her chest.

_A/N_

_This one's been very stubborn to pull together - its been a bit of a headache to be honest._

_Its very much a building chapter where not a great deal actually happens, but I felt we needed to pause and draw breath after everything that's gone on in the first three chapters._

_A couple of new tit bits of information have surfaced though: As we all know Crookshanks is very perceptive, and has obviously recognised that something is amiss with Hermione, as has Dumbledore, as is evident by his reaction to her in the final few lines._

_As for the haircut, its my assertion that the older Hermione from the first two chapters would have cut her hair short to make it manageable, as so much of her time is taken up caring for Harry. Fifteen year old Hermione is just getting some flashbacks of that which inspired her to go for the Twiggy look._

_OK - obviously that's bull! Emma Watson looks wonderful with short hair, so my Hermione has short hair too. ;-) Whatcha gonna do?_

_Disclaimer? Chapter one peeps_


	5. Chapter 5 Future Recollections

**Chapter Five – Future Recollections**

Hermione stared mutely at the headmaster, trying desperately to assimilate the accusation, that, like the venerable wizards wand, had been levelled against her.

Intellectually she had known, since she first opened the pages of Hogwarts; a History four years previously, that Dumbledore was the most powerful light wizard of the century - some would argue of all time. His defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in nineteen forty-five had become the stuff of legend.

But it was only now, as she stared down the metaphorical barrel of the headmasters elegantly fashioned wand, when she could literally feel the raw magical power radiating off the august wizard, that she could truly make the connection between the powerful wizard she had read about, and the often eccentric, occasionally bizarre headmaster she knew.

"You will now tell me; who you are, who sent you and what you have done with the real Hermione Granger?" Dumbledore's voice was not raised but there was no mistaking the menace in his tone, or the flare of anger behind his sapphire eyes replacing his usual mischievous twinkle.

She opened her mouth to protest but closed it quickly, repeating the motion several times as she was rendered speechless by the baseless charges against her. Her silence motivated, she quickly came to realise, owing to the fact that any defence she tried to offer to the accusation would make little difference; an imposter would protest their innocence just as vociferously as she.

Dumbledore obviously read her bewildered silence as a refusal to comply with his order, for he added; "Professor Snape will be along shortly with enough veritaserum to furnish our conversation all evening."

Hermione could just imagine Harry and Ron's fury if she were to let the Slytherin head of house drug her with truth serum - she couldn't permit that the happen.

She closed her mouth, quietly composed herself, and then asked, in as level and controlled voice as she could muster whilst still staring down the shaft of the wand of the greatest sorcerer of the last century; "Professor, I am Hermione Granger. How can I prove it to you?"

The response that Dumbledore had obviously expected to give died on his lips, the headmaster considering her quizzically, tipping his head to one side as if re-evaluating her. The fire in his eyes giving way to an expression that Hermione read as curiosity – this was obviously not the reaction he had expected from her. He tipped his nose forward so that he was now peering over the top of his half moon spectacles, his wispy white eyebrows knitted together in deep concentration.

Harry had occasionally spoken of his belief that Professor Dumbledore could read minds just by looking at someone, and, having read ahead in her school studies well beyond next years O.W.L's she knew that such a feat was indeed possible.

However, the thought that it was possible that this was what was happening now, was quickly cast aside as she drew in a short, sharp gasp of air, as a feeling akin to swallowing a gallon of ice water permeating to her core and then spread quickly and painfully to her extremities.

But even as the pain arced through her, her rational mind was screaming inwardly; _this isn't right!_

But it wasn't. Nothing she had read suggested that having your mind read should hurt; unless, of course, you were actively attempting to ward against it utilising a skill she had read up on called occlumency - a defence she knew herself incapable of mounting. She simply did not possess the knowledge required to defend against such an intrusion.

Not that she would have attempted to do so even if she did have such power, for whilst she wasn't overly thrilled at the thought of the professor rummaging around in her innermost feelings, if it served to clear her name, she would accept it.

Distantly she realised someone was screaming; the rational part of her mind somewhat surprised to discover that the sound was not issuing from her, but instead, Albus Dumbledore.

Her last sight before she screwed her eyes shut against the pain, was that of Professor Dumbledore, a palm pressed to his temple in apparent agony, close to passing out, his lips parted in a anguished cry, now silenced.

She could sense the world swirling about her even through her closed eyelids, screwed shut in attempt to stave off both the pain and the dizzying sensation.

Finally, when the pain became too much for her to bare, her conciousness, did not so much as slip away from her, as it was torn asunder. Her small frame slipped out of the winged chair and landed on the floor in a crumpled heap, as simultaneously, so too did the frail body of her headmaster.

Unbeknown to them, in another part of the sprawling castle, Harry too, collapsed unconscious to the floor.

oOo

Hermione awoke, although it was not exactly the right turn of phrase to describe the manner in which her senses returned.

Image after image rushed past her eyes, in the monochrome world she had awoken to, each individual scene lasting mere instants, forcing her to shut her eyes once more against the dizzying sensation. Her subconscious mind registered the resemblance of those images to the snatches of dreams she was occasionally able to recall in the moments immediately after waking, but she knew she was not asleep.

In fact, if she concentrated her mind on the finer details of sensation, she could detect the smooth, time worn, stone flagstones she lay sprawled on in the headmasters study; the soft puffing sounds emitted by Dumbledore's many curious contraptions and the soft trilling of his familiar, Fawkes. Logically therefore, the only explanation was that she was having some sort of out-of-body vision.

A little over a day ago she would have scoffed at the possibility, but her recent experiences had educated otherwise.

Returning her focus to the swirling images before her eyes, she simultaneously realised that the images revolving before her were in fact memories, as she recognised one scene from her childhood.

She was eight, watching her father dig a grave for her first pet, a crushing sorrow settling over her ... she was eleven, opening her first letter from Hogwarts, her heart bursting with joy as she realised why she had always felt different ... she was thirteen, her heart freezing in her chest as she caught sight of the huge yellow eyes of the Basilisk in her hand mirror ... she was eighteen, standing over another grave, its crude headstone read; _Here lies Dobby, a free Elf_ ... she was nineteen, tears streaming down her face as she remembered those who had fallen in the war a year earlier ... she was twenty-five, her heart breaking as she attempted to sooth the rocking form of Harry in a padded cell ... she was thirty, standing atop a dark, deserted hillside. Dozens of ancient standing stones looming in the gloom, a devastating loneliness flooding her thoughts ...

NOOOOOOOO!

_But these can't be memories_, she thought wildly as the world around her blackened, unaware if she had screamed aloud or not, _these things never happened!_ _Dobby, Fred, Professor Lupin, Sirius; they were all alive and well_. But even as the thoughts formed in her mind she knew her protestations to be false. Somehow, despite the impossibility of it, she knew that she had lived these moment before, and would again if history followed the same path once more.

With that last thought, the blackening world around her faded to nothingness, the blessed relief of unconsciousness sweeping over her a moment later.

oOo

A riot of sounds greeted Hermione as conciousness slowly returned to her. Her eyes were still closed, feeling as if they were weighted down with tiny dumbbells, but the rest of her addled senses recognised distantly, first the sounds of a door flying open, crashing loudly on its hinges as the wooden door made contact with the stone wall that framed it, followed by the muffled, but unmistakable tones of voices raised in argument.

"...blatant vandalism!" the first voice exclaimed in outrage. "I'll have you expelled for this..."

A second voice, further away and unintelligible cut across the first, and although she couldn't hear the content, she knew from the tone it had been a scathing retort, promptly silencing the first speaker.

She tried once more to open her eyes to find the source of the commotion but failed, the effort draining her of what little strength she seemed to possess.

"Severus," added a third, much closer voice she knew she should recognise but couldn't place in her current confused state. "Please, permit our guest entry."

The voices, whoever they were, had now silenced, after a brief, and undecipherable reply from the first speaker. The noise of their short-lived argument replaced by the heavy footfalls of someone sprinting into the room, a second set of footsteps receding slowly and heavily in the other direction.

"Professor!" came a voice even her addled senses could recognise – _Harry_. "What's wrong with her? What did he do to her? Is she going to be alright..."

"Mr Potter!" the stern voice of Madame Pomfrey cut off the rest of Harry's gatling gun of questions. "I demand you control yourself. Professor Snape has done nothing to harm Miss Granger, in fact he alerted me to her condition, and Professor Dumbledore is in no condition to be..."

But whatever the headmaster was in no condition for was left unspoken, as Hermione, spurred on by Harry's presence, managed to force two words past her dry lips; "What happened?" Her jaw felt stiff and unused, as if she hadn't spoken in aeons, the words coming out the merest of whispers. So much so that she wondered whether her question was even audible.

"Hermione!" Harry was by her side in an instant, answering her silent musings, both his hands enclosing her right hand where it lay on the soft bedding. His hands felt hot to the touch, as if he had been physically exerting himself, but the beads of perspiration were cold and clammy suggesting a deep state of shock. "I ran straight here as soon as I came round," he continued. "I was so worried," he concluded, both confirming her own diagnosis and simultaneously giving her a new question to mull over – _what did Harry mean by 'as soon as I came round'?_

Madame Pomfrey's voice rang out much closer to her than before pulling her thoughts back to the present. "Miss Granger, can you hear us?" before she added sotto voce to Harry; "If you must hang around like a love sick puppy dog, at least go and make yourself useful. Fetch me that trolley of potion vials."

Hermione could picture the stern matrons impassive expression as she admonished her boyfriend, but their was no mistaking the slight tone of amusement it carried.

After a moment she heard the approach of the rattling trolley, presumably pushed by Harry.

"Here dear, drink this," ordered the healer, pressing the lip of the glass vial to her lips.

Hermione opened her mouth obligingly, and drained the contents of the acrid tasting liquid in one motion.

A warmth quickly enveloped her body, reinvigorating her senses, and she opened her eyes to find Harry's concerned filled emerald orbs hovering directly above her. She offered him a reassuring smile, but instead of collapsing back into the chair alongside the bed she occupied in relief as she expected he would, her pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Merlin, Hermione," he said, almost breathing the words into her neck. "I thought I'd lost you again. I couldn't bear that. I – I love you, Hermione."

"Yo – you love me?" she replied with difficulty, her heart seemed to have swelled to twice its normal size and taken up residence in her throat. His declaration shoving her many questions aside; questions such as how she had come to be in the infirmary; what Harry had meant by his earlier statement regarding his 'coming around'; and why the headmaster also appeared to have been admitted to the ward, as she now noted he was lying in a bed next to her own.

However, the words she longed to say;_ 'I Love you too, Harry'_, that were poised on the tip of her tongue, never made it past her lips, as their moment was interrupted;

"You love her?"

The new and unexpected voice was instantly recognisable to both, shoving those questions even further aside.

"Ron?" they both asked as they disentangled themselves from their embrace and turned their heads in unison towards the doorway where the youngest Weasley son stood, his expression warring between petulance and astonishment.

Hermione knew she still needed to have _that_ chat with her other best friend, but she hadn't envisioned doing so in front of of both Madame Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore, who's expression was neutral, although his sapphire eyes positively beamed at the trio.

"Yes, well. You seem stable for the time being Miss Granger," said Madame Pomfrey, after loudly, and obviously falsely, clearing her throat, breaking the awkward silence that hung between the three friends. "I'll be in my office reviewing your test results," she concluded, making her excuse to leave. Hermione offered her silent thanks to her retreating back as she bustled away.

"Yeah mate," said Harry, standing to face his oldest male friend. "I love her."

Ron took a single step forward into the room. "You really wanna have this conversation _now_?" he asked, his gaze flickering from the couple to Dumbledore and back again.

"Forgive me Mr Weasley," interjected Dumbledore, speaking rather louder than was his norm, and enunciating his words very carefully. "You'll have to repeat that. One of the unfortunate side effects of the restorative that Madame Pomfrey has given me is that I have been rendered quite deaf," he finished, flashing a quick and knowing look in Harry and Hermione's direction. "Temporarily," he added quickly in response to their concerned expressions.

"Oh, well, good," said Ron, coming further into the room, before he seemed to realise what he had said. "Well, not good...obviously, but...um...better...I mean for me...for us...er...a little help here guys!" he finished imploringly, switching his attention back to his closest friends.

Harry stifled a chuckle, and Hermione's lips broke into a wide grin. "I really don't think he can hear you Ronald," she said, nodding towards the headmaster, who was now studying the dust moats floating in the glow of the lantern above his bed intently, humming quietly to himself.

"Yeah, guess not," replied Ron, briefly offering his most charming lopsided grin as he took in the amusing sight, before his gaze resettled on the couple in front of him, his grin collapsing as he did so.

"I really do love her Ron," repeated Harry, breaking the uncomfortable silence that threatened to descend once more.

"I - I didn't know," said Ron scuffing his shoe against the floor. "I thought you were just, you know - fooling around - "

Hermione scowled. _Does he really think so little of me_, she thought angrily, but Ron continued quickly, perhaps reading her expression all too well. " - I didn't want her getting hurt, you know," he shrugged, absent mindedly scratching the back of his head. "You're like a sister to me Hermione," he added, locking his blue eyes on hers.

Hermione's anger subsided as quickly as it had flared up. "Thank you, Ron. That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," _other than Harry telling me he loves me_, she added silently and joyously.

"And I guess," Ron continued, with a little of his old humour. "If anyone's good enough for our Hermione, it's Harry," and he clapped his best friend on the shoulder, both boys wearing equally wide grins. "Anyone's better than Krum." he added with a wink, before bending down and placing a gentle kiss on Hermione's cheek.

"Ron!" she exclaimed, touching the spot with her fingers. "When did you get so mature?"

"Always the tone of surprise," he retorted with a shrug. "What happened anyway?"

Hermione bit her lower lip in concentration, trying to recall the details of how she and Dumbledore had come to find themselves in the infirmary.

"McGonagall came to find me," supplied Ron, when Hermione's answer was not immediately forthcoming. "She said I should come with her down to the infirmary."

"She was telling me that you had been hurt in the headmasters office, when we ran into Snape," Ron continued, all but spitting out the name of their least favourite teacher. "He was in a towering temper, muttering something about 'being as arrogant as his Father'," Said Ron, turning his eyes on Harry. "Do we have you to thank for another fun filled potions lesson next week?"

Harry grinned, recognising Ron's tone as teasing opposed to accusatory. "Yeah. We had..._words_," said Harry.

Hermione nodded silently, her mind making the mental link to the heated words she had heard as her mind fought to regain conciousness.

"Anyway," said Ron, picking up his line of thought, "Old McGonagall took Snape off to the staff room to calm him down, and sent me on ahead. One thing I don't get though - what were you doing in Dumbledore's office in the first place, Hermione?"

"I..." but her reply trailed away to nothing, as she realised she couldn't remember anything of the visit.

"Dumbledore asked to see her," Harry said, perching himself back on the edge of Hermione's bed whilst Ron took a seat in the visitors chair.

Harry, picking up Hermione's unfinished explanation, then proceeded to outline to Ron everything that had really happened at the bottom of the loch during the second task, and therefore Dumbledore's reasons for wanting to see her in the first place.

"Bloody hell, Hermione," said Ron, who had turned ghostly white during Harry's recounting of the nearly disastrous events bellow the surface, making his red hair appear even more vivid. "And that's what Dumbledore wanted to talk to you about?"

"Yes," replied Hermione, drawing her eyebrows together as she tried to recollect the details that seemed so tantalisingly close, but once more drew a blank.

"I believe," offered Dumbledore, speaking with his usual timbre once more. "That I may be able to offer an explanation, Miss Granger."

No one pointed out that the professor seemed to have regained his hearing at such a fortuitous moment.

_Miss Granger_. Her subconscious mind pushed a jumbled memory to the surface of a door opening to an elegant, circular room where Dumbledore deliberately referred to her differently. But, although her mind recognised the memory as important; it was still indistinct, refusing to fully coalesce in her minds eye, leaving her with more questions than answers.

"Miss Granger here did indeed visit me in my study," continued the headmaster, stroking his wispy beard. "And, I am saddened to admit, that I am the cause of her hospitalisation," he explained solemnly. "As I once told you Harry, being, as I am, rather cleverer than most, my mistakes tend to be correspondingly greater. I am guilty of one such mistake tonight."

The headmaster swung his long legs over the edge of his bed, and pushing himself gingerly to his feet, began to pace the confines of the infirmary as he spoke. "You see, when I invited Miss Granger to my study it was indeed with the intention of discussing both the failure of my spell to sedate her, and also her startling displays of advanced magic, but my intent altered when my investigations indicated that someone in the castle was under the influence of Polyjuice potion."

"And you thought it was Hermione?" Ron was first to voice the question.

"Indeed," admitted Dumbledore. "And I did truly believe I was correct," he continued, now standing at the foot of Hermione's bed, speaking directly to her.

"But you don't believe that anymore, sir?" Hermione asked.

"No, Miss Granger I do not. For one thing, you have not been able to consume anything for several hours, ensuring that if you had been disguised by polyjuice, its effects would have worn off long ago."

Hermione nodded, both in understanding of the headmasters words, but also as she comprehended her earlier flash of memory, but she was beaten to her next question by Harry.

"But why would you suspect Hermione?"

"A valid question Harry," said Dumbledore, beginning his pacing once more. "As I said, at first I was merely intrigued by Miss Grangers developing abilities, however, when Professor Snape brought evidence to me that ingredients, that could only have been for the singular purpose of brewing polyjuice potion, had been removed from his stores, I began to suspect."

"Miss Granger's dramatic changes in both her magical ability, appearance, and, pehaps most worrisome to me, her relationship with you Harry - " Dumbledore paused his pacing long enough to peer over his half-moon spectacles at him. " - led me to putting two and two together, and coming up with five."

"I ask you to forgive a foolish old man, Miss Granger," he asked, once more switching his gaze towards Hermione.

"You were only doing what you had to do to protect the school, sir," said Hermione, accepting his apology and meaning it.

Dumbledore looked relieved. "Thank you Miss Granger. It has been a long time since I was as young as you three, and, despite all my many years around youngsters your age, I often forget how quickly the course of young love runs."

Both Harry and Hermione blushed, but Ron looked thoughtful.

"So that means there is still someone running around the school disguised with polyjuice?" he said.

"Quite so," agreed Dumbledore, looking deeply concerned.

"Sir?" This time it was Harry who interjected. "I still don't understand. You said, you were the cause of Hermione's blackout."

Dumbledore's face paled, and his right hand took hold of the bed frame to steady himself,. He suddenly looked every one of his eleven decades of life. "You are correct, Harry," he said, "and I am ashamed of myself for doing so."

Each member of the trio glanced at one another; each wearing an equally blank expression. Expressions which Dumbledore obviously picked up on, for after a brief pause during which he appeared to gather himself, he continued;

"Miss Granger here showed great maturity under intense scrutiny; instead of pleading her innocence, which I admit would have only served to deepen my suspicions, she asked me how she could prove her identity to me."

Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth as the memory returned like a juggernaut. "Legilimency," she whispered.

Neither Harry, or Ron's expressions changed, evidently neither one of them understanding the obscure branch of magic Hermione had almost reverently whispered, but Dumbledore's right eyebrow reached for the ceiling.

"So you are not a natural occlumens, as I suspected? You have studied the discipline?"

"Now it was the turn of Hermione's brow to reach aloft, both of her eyebrows lifting towards her hairline. "Me?" she squeaked, frustrated at how much she sounded like an eight year old at that moment. "No, sir. I've read about it, but I've never - I didn't know I could - " her voiced trailed away as the implication that she had performed a second piece of accidental advanced magic in as many days sunk in.

"Would someone please explain what is going on?" said Harry, his tone exasperated.

Dumbledore nodded, and perched himself back on the edge of the bed he had vacated. "I am ashamed to say I attempted to read Miss Grangers mind without permission, Harry," he explained. "I am somewhat of an accomplished Legilimens. But Miss Grangers mind appeared to me as nothing short of a slate of obsidian; she has the strongest mental shields I have ever encountered. In my haste to assess her true identity, I launched a mental attack on her which, although lacking greatly in finesse, possessed great power. That mental energy rebounded on me, causing my collapse, and, although I am only guessing, the effort of resisting my assault on her mind forced Miss Granger to relive a great many past memories; not all of them pleasant I should imagine," he added with a glance at Hermione, "causing her too, to pass out."

Hermione nodded, for although she could not recall the details of the images her subconscious had offered up, knew that they had been most disturbing in nature.

"The gravestone - " muttered Harry.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I missed that," said Dumbledore. "A lingering effect from Madame Pomfrey's ministrations no doubt," he added, a little of his old twinkle returning to his expression.

"I - I, passed out too, professor," admitted Harry, who looked suitably abashed, for not saying as much sooner. "I thought I'd dreamt it, but I think I was seeing Hermione's thoughts. I saw a gravestone, with Dobby's name on it."

Hermione gasped as the memory returned in a torrent. "I saw that too."

The headmaster made an indistinct noise. "It appears," he said at length, "that we have several new questions to add to our growing list. Not least amongst them, your growing magical power Miss Granger, why no trace of your hibernation spell appeared in your test results, and how Mr Potter here was affected by an act that should have required eye contact."

"Not to mention who is running around the school disguised by polyjuice potion," added Ron.

"Precisely," said Dumbledore, looking pensive. "But I am at a loss to answer any of those questions."

"I, may be able to offer some explanations headmaster," came Madame Pomfrey's voice, as the mediwitch strode from her office clutching a piece of parchment in her hand.

_A/N_

_***updated* Thanks to Redwoodx for pointing out some holes I had left in the plot. I did intend to resolve those in the next chapter, but that proved to be very difficult to do cohesively, so I have altered much of the third act of this chapter and tweaked some small details in the first couple.**_

_**It has also taught me something about publishing as I write - I need a buffer, as I realise I often re-write past chapters as I go. That being the case, I will post chapter six straight away, but I won't upload seven until I have eight completed, and so on and so forth.**_

_In canon, Harry was accused of stealing the polyjuice ingredients, but as Dumbledore pointed out, Hermione wasn't exactly behaving completely like herself, so the spotlight fell on her instead – although just as erroneously as when it had fallen on Harry._

_This is also the first time I've written Ron (more than a couple of lines anyway) so I'd like your opinion if I got him right or not. I know there are a lot of Ron haters out there, but I like him, and I want to do his character justice._

_Till next time peeps._

_Witherwings._

_Disclaimer? Try Chapter one._


	6. Chapter 6 Amalgam

_A/N - I know I don't normally post my musings before a chapter, but before y'all read the newest instalment of TNOTO, you might want to check out chapter five again. _

_Following a few conversations on PM, I re-read the chapter and realised I wasn't happy with it (to be honest I still think it leaves a lot to be desired, but it just won't come together the way I have it in my mind) - so I've done a bit of a re-write. The altered material focuses mostly on the scene set in the hospital wing as Hermione awakens, so perhaps re-reading from there will make this next chapter gel a bit better._

**Chapter Six - Amalgam**

"Ah, Madame Pomfrey," said Dumbledore, by way of greeting, "you join us at an opportune moment," he concluded, managing to sound, in that maddeningly calm way of his, as if he had always expected her to walk out of her office at that very moment. "What have you discovered?"

"Never mind that headmaster," she said, as she strode towards the quartet, her face a mask of professionalism. "What's this about you passing out, Mr Potter?"

"It was nothing. I'm fine now..." Harry protested weakly, his words trailing away as perhaps he realised how unconvincing his argument sounded, as Ron looked around in bewilderment - possibly wondering, as did Hermione, how Madame Pomfrey had overheard their conversation from inside her office.

As the Hogwarts stalwart approached her bed, Hermione noted, that although Harry had grown considerably during the last year; so much so that he now looked down on the middle aged witch, there was something in the way she commanded a room that almost visibly made Harry deflate under her stern, yet caring glare, somehow giving her the appearance of a height advantage she no longer possessed - it was a skill she had seen Molly Weasley exhibit with her brood on more than one occasion.

"I don't recall your graduation from mediwizard school," said Pomfrey, her tone firm even as her lips threatened to curl into a small smile. "Now into bed please."

Harry's did not move immediately, instead he locked his emerald eyes on Hermione's questioningly - _He's seeking permission from me_, she realised abruptly, which she granted with a subtle nod, whilst Pomfrey looked on, tapping her foot impatiently, although she did remain uncharacteristically silent as the young couple communicated silently.

Harry gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, that set a crackle of electricity up her arm, and he slipped his warm hand from hers before he was all but herded towards an empty bed next to Hermione's own. It was only then, when their contact was broken, that Hermione realised that he hadn't once released her hand from his own since she had awoken. _He was that worried about me,_ she thought, feeling a brief thrill at the understanding that she was that important to Harry

He hopped up onto the bed and sat facing Hermione, where Hermione noted that his features were set into a look she had never seen etched on his expressive face before - so much so that she had trouble placing it. If she was any judge of such things, she would describe his expression as that of desperate longing; an intense desire to be close to her once more.

A feeling, Hermione realised with a start, that she shared with great intensity; her hand felt so _empty_, without Harry's own ensnared around it.

_What's wrong with me? _she wondered silently, even as she yearned to be in contact with Harry again. _He's sitting less than a meter away from me_! she admonished herself, but her inner protests couldn't stop the unbidden flashes of memory that raced across her mind; the touch of his skin on hers; the warmth of his breath on her neck as he spoke; the feel of his thumb tracing aimless patterns on the back of her palm whilst he'd comforted her - each memory eliciting a small flip from her stomach.

Shaking her head slightly in an attempt to clear it of the rush of emotions, she tore her attention away from Harry and back towards the healer with an act of will. She noted with gratitude, that the attention of everyone in the room was set on Harry, as, with practised ease, Madame Pomfrey guided her wand over her new patient; grateful because it ensured the blush that had risen to her cheeks would have time to subside before anyone could notice her obvious embarrassment at the intensity of her developing feelings. _He loves me_, she repeated silently to herself, still not quite believing he shared her feelings for him.

After a brief moment, a thin, ticker tape, ribbon of paper, issued from the tip of her wand, which Pomfrey studied intently whilst indistinct clucking noises escaped her throat. "Well Mr Potter," she said at length, "so far as I can measure it, you appear to be in perfect health."

Hermione noted the satisfied smile that spread itself across the face of her boyfriend, which said very clearly; _see, told you so_, without ever needing to say so aloud. Without waiting for permission_, _he scooted off the bed and resettled himself in the position he had vacated next to Hermione, and although the matrons eyes narrowed, she did not comment or order Harry to return to his bed.

He slipped his fingers into Hermione's still open palm; that one simple action forcing Hermione to subdue a soft, satisfied sigh, from escaping her lips - she felt..._complete_. One quick look at the contented expression adorning Harry's face confirmed he felt much the same.

Dumbledore, who had watched their unspoken exchange with interest, a glint of understanding in his eyes, took the opportunity to steer the conversation back on track. "You inferred that you may have some answers for us, Poppy?" he said, speaking for the first time since the nurse had re-entered the infirmary, having wisely maintained his silence whilst the healer ministered to her patient without interruptions.

The words of the headmaster, who, perhaps motivated by the no-nonsense attitude she displayed whilst tending to Harry, had moved himself back into a half sitting position on his bed, propped up by several pillows, had the desired effect and the rooms collective attention once more returned to the schools healer.

"To be honest, I am not sure professor," the matron admitted, whose face was partially hidden in the shadows cast by the flickering lanterns. "I have never seen anything like it in all my years as a healer."

For the second time that evening, Hermione felt worry stab at her heart. _What if there really is something wrong with me_, she thought, worrying her bottom lip with her top teeth, noting in her peripheral vision, that Harry too, wore an almost matching expression of concern as she, his dark eyebrows drawn together, hooding his green eyes.

The healer, obviously read the expressions on the teens faces, and quickly interjected; "Oh no, nothing like that Miss Granger," she said, "you are in perfect health...physically and magically." She added that last three words almost as an afterthought. "However, I don't really know where to begin," she finished turning her gaze expectantly towards Dumbledore.

Hermione felt her ire rise slightly; there was no doubt that Dumbledore was a powerful wizard, but why an accomplished professional like Madame Pomfrey felt the need to seek his permission to speak when she evidently had important information to divulge; information Hermione needed, was frustrating to say the least. The headmaster had, after all, demonstrated that he was human like everyone else, and was as capable as anyone of making mistakes; his recent accusation levelled towards her, the most recent. _Why then_, she wondered, _does everyone still look to him as some sort of infallible oracle?_

"Perhaps," Dumbledore began interrupting Hermione's increasingly irked musings, "at the beginning would be appropriate," he said, stroking his long beard thoughtfully.

_This is no time for cryptic nonsense,_ Hermione thought, her earlier ire giving way to an emotion bordering on hostility towards the headmaster, as the words once spoken by her best friend, Ronald Weasley had once proclaimed, flashed across her mind;_ 'Yeah, Dumbledore's off his rocker all right_.'

Back then, as ickle firsties, as the twins had often called them, Ron had sounded deeply awed by the eccentricity of their headmaster, but now, judging by the angry glare he flashed towards Dumbledore; one she was tempted to mirror, he no longer found his oddball attitude amusing or appropriate at such a serious juncture.

However, she noted with surprise, Dumbledore's flippant remark appeared to have had the desire effect, and Madame Pomfrey, who, having taken a cleansing breath, began to detail her findings, permitting Hermione no time to analyse the angry feelings she experienced directed at Dumbledore. She had always known he wasn't infallible, so why only now, did it get her heckles up? She filed the question away for later consideration, and returned her full attention to the mediwitch.

"Thank you headmaster," she said graciously. "I have been studying the results of the tests I performed whilst both you and Miss Granger were unconscious, and I have noticed an anomaly in Miss Grangers results which might explain both of your collapses."

"Which is?" Ron voiced the question, although the quick glance Hermione shot towards the other occupants of the room confirmed that the same question had formed on all of their lips - Hermione recognised the look of barely restrained impatience which coloured Harry's face; one he so often wore when he felt like he should being doing something, rather than just standing, or, in his present position, sitting around waiting. A ghost of a smile played across Hermione's lips as the military idiom of 'Hurry up and wait' suddenly made perfect sense to her - it had been several long minutes since Pomfrey had declared she might be able to answer some of their many questions, but had yet to divulge anything of value.

"Perhaps it would be easier if I showed you," suggested Madame Pomfrey, perhaps sensing the mood of her audience, and she extracted her wand from her robes and began to twirl it in an intricate pattern a few inches above Hermione's torso.

Within a matter of seconds several indistinct, but solidifying wisps, of what could only be described as smoke, began to take shape above Hermione's bed, their forms tinged orange from the lanterns dotted around the walls which provided the only illumination in the infirmary at this late hour. The group watched in silence, as the smoky forms coalesced into shapes; shapes that Hermione recognised instantly from her ancient runes class as just that, but she could not translate them, although she noted with interest that Dumbledore was nodding with apparent understanding.

"Her magical signature," he declared after a moment of silent contemplation.

Madame Pomfrey gave a brief thin lipped smile by way of confirmation. "Yes...and no, headmaster."

"This is Miss Grangers signature," she confirmed, and she indicated a series of seven rune symbols with her wand, a movement followed by every set of eyes in the room. "But I am detecting the presence of_...another," _she concluded_, _her tone of voice conveying her complete disbelief at what her own diagnosis was telling her, as she pointed to another, similar, but obviously different set of symbols that hung, almost super imposed, over the first.

Hermione wrinkled her nose as she squinted her eyes in an attempt to study the forms in the weak artificial light of the hospital wing, but all she could say for certain was that there were very definitely fourteen rune symbols floating about a meter above her bed. Seven of which apparently belonged to her; seven more, who's smoky symbols appeared more spectral that her own very solid looking runes, to someone else, although, for the life of her, she could not fathom who's, or for that matter how or why she was acting as some sort of vessel for another soul's magical energies - although it did perhaps at least explain why her magic had suddenly become more powerful.

"It's a mistake," said Ron immediately, who obviously wished he could take back the statement almost as soon as he had made it, such was the venomous look that Madame Pomfrey fired towards him;_ I do not make mistakes_, was the obvious, but unspoken message.

"There is no mistake Mr Weasley," said Professor Dumbledore, who, unnoticed by Hermione had risen stealthily, and had drawn closer to the still hovering symbols, his nose mere inches from them, studying them intently. "There are very clearly two distinct magical signatures residing in the body of Miss Granger," he concluded, as his sapphire eyes racked over the prone form of the girl before him, as if seeing her in a new light.

Hermione's emotion's warred within her. To some degree she wanted nothing more than for a hole to open up bellow her bed and swallow her whole; anything to remove herself from the spotlight of attention she felt pressing in around her - even Harry had stopped circling his thumb over the back of her palm to peer at the runes. But, on the other hand, her insatiable curiosity, fuelled by her logical and ordered mind, which had already detached itself from the fact that they were discussing her, and not some theoretical branch of magic, was desperate for more information.

Her curiosity won out; "I don't understand professor. How is that even possible?"

"Forgive me, Miss Granger," answered the headmaster in a tone she could only described as clipped. "I, like Madame Pomfrey, have never before seen, or heard of such a thing."

Hermione nodded, understanding she had just been given something of a dressing down by the professor.

"However," he continued, in a softer tone of voice, "if I may be permitted a few words with our healer, I may be able to form a working hypothesis."

She repeated her head movement in agreement, not trusting herself to speak again at that moment, her embarrassment that she had interrupted the headmasters train of thought, evident on her cheeks.

Dumbledore nodded; both, she assumed, in acceptance of her silent apology, and to signify his intention to get to the root of her situation and uncover the answers.

Instantly, his bearing altered. No longer did his demeanour speak of an aged, frail infirmary patient, but, as he rounded the bed to converse with Madame Pomfrey, his spine straight and his eyes ablaze with a thirst for the truth, he once again projected a power and authority he had exuded in his office, several hours beforehand.

"I am no expert in such matters," Dumbledore said directly to the school nurse, but in a voice, Hermione realised with gratitude, was carefully modulated so that it was loud enough to carry across to where she, Harry and Ron still sat, "but how can we be certain that Miss Granger has not always possessed such a..._unique_ signature, " he asked having paused to search for the right turn of phrase.

Hermione immediately understood why so many people looked up to the headmaster as a great leader; she was in no doubt that the professor had sufficient knowledge to answer that question himself - in fact, she felt fairly certain that she knew the answer to that particular query herself, but, by asking for Pomfrey's input he ensured that no one felt left out. It was a skill she had often noticed Harry unwittingly employ.

A detached part of her mind tried to draw attention to the fact that in the space of a few minutes her impression of the august wizard had swung full circle again, but her concious mind did not grasp onto that realisation, her attention too focused on the matron's explanation.

"The school keeps detailed medical records, headmaster," the healer answered, confirming Hermione's own suspicion, "I would have noticed something like this when she was under my care during her second year."

Hermione stifled a shiver as the memory of those dark days two years ago returned to her. A period during which time she, along with several other students, had been petrified by Slytherin's monster; a beast they now knew to have been a basilisk. Somehow, Harry seemed to understand her line of thinking, for he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze, his simple act of protectiveness calming her volatile emotions and she returned the squeeze.

"As I suspected," Dumbledore continued seamlessly. "Then tell me, Poppy, how were you able to ascertain which one of the two signatures belonged to Miss Granger?"

"Actually headmaster, that was quite simple," explained the mediwitch taking a few strides back towards the still present runes. "Everyone's magical signature is unique, but, in it's represented form here - " she indicated the seven symbols once more, her voice having taken on a tone Hermione recognised she herself used; a tone she had inwardly termed as 'lecture mode'. " - we are able to predict, with great proficiency I should add, how each persons magical core will grow and develop over the years."

"Much as you can predict my eventual adult height?" put in Harry.

"Precisely Mr Potter," said Pomfrey warmly, "if your data sample is large enough, you can be certain of accurate predictions."

"And this signature," said Dumbledore, who, having followed Madame Pomfrey, and was gesturing towards the more solidified of the two displayed signatures, "matches your expectations of her cores magical growth over the past two years?"

"Exactly."

Dumbledore looked thoughtful before adding; "If I am not mistaken, one of these symbols should represent a persons 'constant'."

"Indeed. This one," replied Pomfrey pointing her wand towards the sixth of the seven runes. "This will never alter, regardless of age, environment on magical strength."

"Quite remarkable," whispered Dumbledore in what, to Hermione, sounded almost like a tone of reverence.

No one spoke as they waited for the wizened headmaster to share his thoughts with them, the silence only broken by the metronomic ticking from the clock which adorned the wall opposite, its hands indicating the time as almost half past six in the morning_. I've been unconscious all night_, Hermione realised distractedly.

Presently, Dumbledore spoke. "I doubt I would have believed it unless I had seen it with my own eyes," he admitted, "but, not only do you possess two magical signatures, Miss Granger, those two signatures originate from the same individual - namely Miss Hermione Jean Granger."

The headmaster paused, not for dramatic effect, but more to allow the hubbub that had arisen from his revelation to subside before continuing;

"The second signature shares your constant value, and, although Madame Pomfrey would likely be able to give a more accurate estimate than my own, I would guesstimate that the second core recorded here originates from some ten to twenty years into our future."

Hermione felt her jaw drop involuntarily and she gripped Harry hand extra tightly - _the future? _Every eye in the room was once more on hers; Madame Pomfrey's eyes sought hers, but she seemed distracted, as if wondering how she had failed to notice the connection. Harry wore an expression of deepest concern, whilst Professor Dumbledore cast an appraising eye in her direction. Only Ron did not seem to grasp the implications of what Dumbledore had revealed, his lips soundlessly mouthing the word, _what_?

"It means, Mr Weasley," said Dumbledore patiently, "that Miss Granger is carrying two parts of herself in her soul - one of which from several years in the future."

Ron's brow furrowed, his mouth working itself to form a soundless letter 'o' as understanding dawned.

Hermione turned her head as her mind whirled from the revelation, and gazed out of the window to the dark grounds beyond, the inky black sky already shifting towards purple and the promise of sunrise shortly. It seemed unbelievable, she thought, yet somehow, completely plausible.

How else could she have conjured the charm that had saved her life? Or defended her mind with occlumancy against a master legilimens when she had no training in the discipline, forcing her to re-live events she knew had never happened - not yet at least. It even explained crookshanks curious behaviour - he didn't recognised her, for want of a better way of describing it, the kneezle cross having always been particularly adept at seeing past façades.

She wasn't certain that she fully understood the medical implications, and she hadn't even begun to process what her feeling were regarding the unexpected twist, but she couldn't deny that it all fit. She said as much aloud to those assembled.

Dumbledore actually chuckled at that. "Yes, it does all fit rather neatly, does it not? As for any medical implications," he continued glancing in Madame Pomfrey's direction, "I believe our school nurse is best placed to answer those concerns, but perhaps first, some rest?" he concluded his eye line briefly resting on the ever lightening vista visible outside of the hospital wings windows.

Hermione noted that both Ron and Harry's features had broken into wide grins at the headmasters last words, evidently both knowing what Hermione's response to an order to sleep would be whilst there was still a mystery to be solved. _Am I that predictable?_ she wondered even as she spoke the next words aloud; "I think I would like to know that now," she said, looking expectantly towards Madame Pomfrey.

To the mediwitches credit, her professionalism kicked in as she answered Hermione's questions, her impassive face now concealing any lingering concerns she had regarding her failure to notice the matching constant values, the healer outlining her belief that Hermione would not suffer any negative effects from the dual cores. If fact, she postulated, that Hermione's signature, which she had taken to referring to as the 'prime' would absorb the 'alternates' magical core, meaning Hermione's own magical energies would grow far quicker than would be considered normal for someone her age.

"Sir?" Harry's voice rang out, interrupting Madame Pomfrey who was just finishing advising Hermione on how to deal with potential bursts of unintentional magic she might have to cope with as her cores merged.

Dumbledore did not reply, but he lowered his chin and regarded him over his glasses, in an obvious gesture to encourage Harry to continue.

"Not to sound self centred or anything," Harry said, "but...what does this have to do with me?"

Another chuckled threatened to break past the headmasters lips.

"Yes, these thing do always seem to have a way of coming back to - "

But the rest of Dumbledore's reply was cut off by a great booming belly laugh. Apparently, having been less successful than Dumbledore at keeping his amusement contained, Ron was the source of the laugher; laughter which sounded far louder than usual in the echoing confines of the infirmary.

"Sorry, mate." Ron bit off between giggles. "It's - just - always about - you - isn't it?"

Hermione eyed Harry cautiously, fearing another falling out between the two friends like their spat at the end of last year fuelled by Ron's ongoing jealousy with Harry's fame. To her relief she noted that Harry was smiling sheepishly.

"Yeah. Just lucky I guess," he said.

That pushed Ron over the edge, his laughter now silenced as he gripped the side of Hermione's bed, his body rocking with silent mirth.

Hermione rolled her eyes at the youngest Weasley son, before levelling her gaze at the headmaster and adding; "What I think Harry means professor, is why did he pass out when you attempted to read my thoughts?"

Dumbledore's moustache quirked up at the corners, suggesting he was smiling broadly beneath his silvery beard. "Very astute of you, Miss Granger," he said, as Hermione saw that Harry was nodding his head in agreement as if to say, _yeah, what she said!_

"Again, I do have a theory - " Dumbledore said after a brief pause.

Hermione found herself leaning forwards in her bed; a posture mimicked by both Harry and Ron, who had finally gotten his attack of giggles under control, although was still very red in the face from shortness of breath.

" - although I believe that there may be a way to confirm my hunch. Madame Pomfrey, could I ask you to repeat the charm you performed on Miss Granger to reveal her core?"

The healers only response was a curt nod and she bustled around the bed towards Hermione, only to be halted by Dumbledore grasping her extended forearm. "On Mr Potter if you please, Poppy."

Confusion briefly creased a furrow between the healers brows, but she quickly recovered her composure and did as had been requested, a moment later Harry's own magical signature coalesced above Hermione's own.

"By the founders!" it was Madame Pomfrey who broke the silence that had descended whist the occupants of the room studied the new symbols. "They're bonded?"

"So it would seem," agreed Dumbledore, although his words were drowned out as both Hermione and Harry blurted out; "_Bonded?_"

Dumbledore smiled, perhaps in part because of the irony that the bonded couple had posed their question in stereo. "Indeed. Your magical signatures share this symbol," and he pointed to the seventh and final rune displayed, "so there can be no doubt. You are a bonded couple."

Being raised by muggles, neither Harry or Hermione seemed to comprehend the implication, leaving Ron to pose the next question.

"You mean they're - they're married?" he spluttered, his tone caught somewhere between disbelief and awe.

Hermione's heart skipped a beat. It couldn't be so, could it? _How could I be married to Harry without even knowing about it?_ she thought furiously, even as she noted that she was not at all adverse to the idea of being Mrs Hermione Potter.

"Yes, and no, Mr Weasley," said Dumbledore in answer to Ron's question. "Whilst it is true that Mr Potter and Miss Granger are considered legally married in the wizarding world, the bond they share is far deeper than that of a simple marriage bond."

"No doubt the two of you have already noticed some of the results of the bond?" Dumbledore asked, switching his attention back towards them. "An almost compelling need to be in contact with each other," explained the headmaster with a knowing look at the couples still conjoined hands. "A heightening of your senses whilst you around around one another and an ability to sense what the other person is thinking or feeling, or even, on occasion, communicate non-verbally."

Hermione starred mutely at first the professor and then Harry in turn, repeating the motion several times as her mind attempted to assimilate the complete change to her world view, even as the realisation settled in that she was indeed experiencing some of Harry's emotions; her earlier anger at Dumbledore stemming, not from her, but, as she now understood, her bond mate.

But if her face was a picture of bewilderment, Harry's in contrast bore an anxious expression. He had removed his glasses and was pinching the bridge of his nose, and she had to fight down a wave of anger directed towards him. _Is the thought of being married to me so bad? _

Finally, Harry spoke. "But that doesn't make sense professor," he stated flatly. "I've know Hermione for four years, and I've never known what she was feeling - " Ron looked like he was about to chime in with a joke about no one understanding girls at that point, but wisely decided against it, perhaps motivated by the glare Hermione directed towards him as he went to open his mouth " - and I've certainly never been able to see her thoughts before."

"And nor would I expect you too, Harry." said Dumbledore kindly. "I believe your bond with Miss Granger would have come to pass of it's own accord eventually," he continued before he added in a quieter tone, intended, Hermione realised, just for them. "We are all sometimes guilty of being blind to that which is most obvious to those around us," he concluded with a knowing look and his ever present twinkle in full force.

"However, it is my belief," he stated, addressing the room once more, "that your bond was formed now in part due to presence of the elder Miss Grangers magical signature."

"You see, if I am reading this correctly," he said pulling his spectacles lower as he peered once more at the multiple runes displayed above the beds, "the elder Miss Granger and Harry were bonded for several years prior to whatever means were employed to send this part of her back. It was that act which, perhaps inadvertently, solidified your bond in our present."

The first rays of sunshine chose that moment to spill through the large windows set along the far wall, as if shining a flash light on her emotions. It was all true, she realised, it had to be. There was no other explanation for either her advanced abilities or for the sudden intensification of the feelings she felt for Harry, and evidently, those he felt for her.

She glanced in her boyfrie - _husband_, she supposed now - direction to find him studiously avoiding her gaze, currently studying his trainers, and she longed to be alone with him so they could talk - Harry was obviously brooding about something – and there was no doubting what that something was.

That desire obviously made itself known on her face, for Dumbledore unexpectedly clapped his hands together returning the collective attention of the room to him. "Well, with the hour so late - or perhaps early, would be more accurate," he added mischievously glancing at the lightening grounds outside, "I suggest we all retire to our lodgings and attempt to get some rest."

"I'll want to keep Miss Granger in for observations, headmaster," put in Pomfrey.

Hermione tensed; _No. No, no, no! _If she didn't speak to Harry now and he was allowed to brood she might never get through to him.

Once more Dumbledore astutely seemed to pick up on her thoughts; "And perhaps Mr Potter too?" he offered.

The mediwitch seemed to mull over the suggestion briefly, before agreeing.

"Excellent." Dumbledore proclaimed waving his wand to move two of the bed closer together, so that she and Harry could remain in close contact she realised distractedly..

"Now, off to bed," he proclaimed loudly, ushering Pomfrey towards her office, before turning on his heel abruptly and striding from the room, Hermione offering him her silent thanks to his retreating form as the headmaster muttered to himself, although his words were unintelligible to the trio from his current distance; "_A power the dark lord knows not?" _he mumbled as he left the infirmary. _"Yes, well this certainly does complicate matters."_

"I guess I better make a move too," added Ron, his chair scraping loudly on the stone floor as he pushed up from it.

"Thank you Ron," said Hermione reaching out her free hand to clasp one of his, as she wondered just how preceptive her best friend had become over the past few months without her noticing. She searched his blue eyes and thought she detected a hint of an encouragement from the redhead to follow through on the conversation she knew she had to have with Harry. "We'll see you later on."

"Yeah, right," Ron agreed, sounding a little awkward. "I'll swing by a little later on."

With a quick squeeze of her offered hand, the redhead too spun of his heel, and a few long strides later, was lost to sight, leaving her and Harry alone for the first time since she had awoken.

Summoning all her Gryffindor courage she turned to him and asked; "So. Are you going to tell me what's wrong?"

A_/N As you might have guess from my pre-chapter notes, I'm having something of a crisis of confidence here. Is this story going off the rails at all, or am I just being my usual self critical self? I'm having trouble looking at it objectively, so some honest feedback would be most appreciated._

_Anyway, enough of my self deprecating nonsense - lets talk about the chapter. I know I've added yet another cliché into my story with the soul bond, but as with the time travel, I am hoping to do this with a bit of a twist. As we already knew, the elder Hermione was not successful in traveling in time, but she did imprint some of her memories on her fifteen year old self - those memories, as we have now discovered, were contained within her magical core, which should offer me plenty of scope to have a kick ass Hermione as the cores merge._

_As for the bond? It was always my premise that the elder Hermione's dutiful care of crazy Harry had bonded them, and that bond, as Dumbledore explained, has reconnected them in this timeline after Harry declared his love aloud for Hermione in the previous chapter. Although I must admit, in my outline of the story the bond did not manifest itself until later in the tale, but as I wrote this chapter it just popped up, and refused to go back in it's nice neat chapter twelve box. That said it is crucial for the ending I have in mind so it had to happen at some point or another - I just hope it still works here. Well I guess you'll tell me that. Review if you have any thoughts. _

_Thanks _

_Witherwings._

_ps - two disclaimers this time around; one as always to Mrs JKR, and the other to fellow fanfic writer Lorien, whom I have shamelessly pinched the runes and constant value from. _


	7. Chapter 7 Set Fire to the Rain

**Chapter Seven - Set Fire to the Rain**

"Please, Harry. Tell me what's wrong?" Hermione asked for the second time. She hated the almost pleading quality her voice had taken on, but she could tolerate the lengthening silence no longer.

Harry's only response was to run his free hand through his perpetually messy raven hair, his eyes still downcast, avoiding hers intently.

_Don't do this to me Harry!_ she demanded internally, recognising his growing emotional distance from her, even though his other hand was still clasped tightly around her own.

_Doesn't he want to be with me?_ she wondered miserably. Or was this, as Ron had suggested, just a bit of 'fooling around'?

_No!_ exclaimed the part of her that she had long ago termed her 'inner Gryffindor'_; This is Harry. He wouldn't do that. He's not like other boys. He loves me._

Hermione wanted to believe that - really, she did - but it didn't take a master legilimens to recognise that Harry was upset by the revelation that they were married - so much so that he had barely looked at her since the discovery of the bond they now shared. She let out a frustrated sigh and made to twirl a lock of her untamed curls through her fingers - a long standing and absent minded habit of hers - before she remembered, as her hand groped blindly in mid-air, that she had shorn her wild, chocolate locks, only that morning - _yesterday _morning, a distant part of her mind corrected.

She had always been something of an early riser, but, for the second time in as many days, Hermione was awake to hear the sounds of the dawn chorus drifting in from beyond the castle walls; the familiar sounds of the many species of birds that called the forbidden forest home, mingled with the decidedly unusual, but equally common sounds, of the calls of the dozens of magical beasts that also inhabited the dark confines of the castle grounds natural border.

But, if the outside world was a cacophony of sounds, the palpable silence that stretched between them had once again moved well beyond comfortable levels.

"Don't you want to be married to me?" she asked, noting with horror, only after the words had slipped past her lips, that she had spoken her deepest fear aloud - albeit unintentionally. She clamped a hand to her mouth in a vain attempt to return those inner doubts precisely there, but the damage was done - Harry's gaze snapped up, his bright green eyes flashing angrily.

Without a word, he released her hand and stood abruptly, his chair skittering backwards as he did so, tumbling to the ground with such a surprisingly loud racket that Hermione was certain that Madame Pomfrey would be charging into the room any moment.

Harry obviously thought so too, for his eye line followed hers to the mediwitches still closed office door.

After a moment, when it had become clear that the matron would not be bursting in on them (although Hermione was certain the school nurse couldn't have failed to have heard the din, especially since she had already overheard one, supposedly private, conversation that night), Harry turned his back on her, and made his way towards one of the large windows, where he paused to gaze out on the castle grounds bellow.

Although still relatively low above the mountains that surrounded Hogwarts on all sides, the suns late winter sunshine illuminated the grounds, bathing them in bright, but cold white light; sunlight, which because of the orientation of the infirmary's large arched windows, did not yet pour over the threshold, meaning Harry's tense frame was therefore silhouetted against the bright grounds beyond.

He stood slightly stooped, his hands grasping each corner of the stone window sill, his head bowed forward with his chin touching his chest, thus drawing his shoulders into a ridged line. He looked, not like a man who had, less that an hour ago, proclaimed his love for his girlfriend - his soul mate in fact - but instead, a man with the weight of the world resting on those squared, but none to broad, teenage shoulders.

"Harry?" she questioned gently, schooling her voice to not betray her warring emotions once again.

Gingerly, she pushed her bedding aside and rose from her prone position for the first time since she had come to, testing her strength as she lowered herself off the bed. She was gratified to find that her legs felt strong underneath her as she lowered herself to the floor, but simultaneously wished she had a pair of slippers as she flinched when her bare toes made contact with the icy cold, stone flooring. "Please, talk to me," she said softly as she padded over to where Harry stood, being careful to minimize the contact of her feet on the cold surface, covering the distance on tip-toes.

Coming to a stop just behind the still hunched form of her boyfriend, she reached out a hand to touch his shoulder, but hesitated a few inches from making contact. For the first time in her friendship with the person the rest of the world called, The-Boy-Who-Lived, she didn't know how to reach out to him - he seemed so_...distant_, all of a sudden.

It had all seemed so easy before; if they had still just been Harry and Hermione, she would have embraced him in a bone crushing 'Hermione hug' and everything would have turned out fine, but for some reason that didn't seem appropriate here. Not now they were Harry _and_ Hermione.

Realising she probably looked ridiculous standing there, less than a step behind Harry, her open hand poised a hairs breadth from his shoulder, she summoned her resolve, and brought her hand down the extra few inches to rest gently on Harry's shoulder.

Immediately Harry spun on the spot, his seeker reflexes kicking in as his left hand shot out and grabbed the hand Hermione had attempted to rest on his back. "Merlin, Hermione!" he all but roared, his fragile emotional control obviously very close to breaking point. "What do you want me to say?"

Hermione shook off his grip - he hadn't hurt her, but she did not want to feel restrained like that. Nor did she want their physical contact to cloud her feelings with emotions leaching in from Harry, as she surmised must have happened during their conversation with Dumbledore earlier that night. "I want you to answer my question, Harry," she answered eventually, fighting hard to stay in control and not permit her emotions to colour her tone; although, she suspected, she had failed in that endeavour - even to her own ears, her voice appeared to waiver. "Do you not want to be married to me?" she repeated, deciding that as she had already voiced her inner most fears once, it could do no further harm to do so again.

"MARRIED? DAMN IT HERMIONE, I'M FOURTEEN YEARS OLD - _FOURTEEN_! DON'T I GET A CHOICE IN ALL OF THIS?" he yelled, abandoning any attempt at stemming his rising anger.

Logically, Hermione knew, both from the way his voice cracked with unspoken emotion, and the tears he was visibly holding back in his eyes, that Harry was deflecting - as he often did when he was brooding or angry - using the argument about their marriage as an excuse not to confront his true feelings and fears - whatever they might be. But, despite that knowledge, she still couldn't prevent the hurt she felt at his words, forcing her own temper to rise.

"Of course you get a choice, Harry!" she retorted angrily, unconsciously crossing her arms across her chest defensively.

"And what choice is that, Hermione?"

He had stopped yelling at least, but if anything, the way his voice now sounded flat and hollow scared Hermione even more than when he had been shouting at her.

"Everyone just expects me to be happy about this," he finished, turning away from her once more.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but the anger and hurt that she could now literally feel radiating off of her, muted her response - _this isn't my fault! _she thoughtangrily_, _as her mouth open and closed in silentfury_. I didn't ask to be bonded to Harry! _

Unshed tears filled her eyes, distorting her vision, so that Harry was little more than a black haired blur. "Damn it, Harry," she swore, just managing to resist the urge to stamp her foot petulantly to punctuate her anger with him. "Look at me!" but Harry did not turn, adding fuel to her building rage.

Her palms crackled with barely restrained magical energy, and she realised her rising temper had left her perilously close to loosing control of her magic and suffering her first bout of accidental magic since she had first learnt that she was a witch over four years previously. But now, and perhaps ironically, because of the very bond she and Harry were arguing about, any burst of uncontrolled magic, could be, Madame Pomfrey had warned, devastatingly destructive.

Fighting with every ounce of her strength, she closed her eyes and attempted to reign in her cascading magical energies.

Deep inside herself, her mind envisioned her magical core as the flame of a candle; a wick, she noted with alarm, which was burning with an uncontrollable, white hot flame. With an act of sheer will, she attempted to force her powerful self control upon her unstable core.

Mercifully, after a moment, the mental representation of her magical energies began to respond to her efforts, the power emanating from the flame subsiding, until once more the candle burnt with a gentle, flickering yellow flame.

Satisfied that she had prevented any subsequent discharge of volatile magical power, Hermione opened her eyes, but the effort had left her drained; the emotional dam she had erected in her mind to ward against the anger flowing through her had collapsed under the strain whilst she had tended to her run away magic - she was now weeping uncontrollably.

"Fine!" she threw back, forcing the words out past her anguish tears, "Go then! Leave." her last word rendered all but incomprehensible as she drew a deep, shuddering breath. "I've stood by you through everything, Harry - _everything_!" A detached part of her mind noticed that, as she yelled the last word at Harry, several birds took flight from the fringes of the forbidden forest. But whether they had been shocked from their perches by her anguished scream carrying across the grounds, or by some unseen beast of the forest, she did not know. "But if you don't care about me enough to do the same," she continued as the tears poured down her face, "perhaps it would be better for both of us if you ju-just left now!"

Harry's anger completely bubbled over and he spun around once more and grabbed both of her wrists. "OF COURSE I CARE!" he bellowed, louder than any of his prior outbursts, but his admission appeared to drain the fight out him and he dropped her hands, before adding, in a much softer tone that Hermione had to strain to catch; "That's exactly the problem..."

His last four words drew Hermione up short, her own anger deflating just as quickly as Harry's own, as her earlier realisation that Harry didn't mean the hurtful things he was saying returned to her. She silently cursed herself for allowing herself to be dragged into an argument like that.

"What's really bothering you, Harry?" she asked, her voice softer but still somewhat clogged by her still ragged breathing.

"I - " but Harry faltered and turned away, the sunlight reflecting briefly on the tear tracks now evident running down his cheeks.

She had never seen Harry cry before, but somehow she seemed to know instinctively what to do. Closing the distance between them, she snaked her left arm round his waist to turn him back towards her, and, when he didn't resist that motion, she used her free hand to pull his chin round to meet her eyes. His eyes were swimming with tears, but when they met, she saw no remnants of his earlier anger, only a flare of love and something else she read as a deeply tormented look.

"Harry..." she whispered, but didn't know what else to say. He looked so _lost_.

"Hermione," he said thickly. "I didn't mean it - any of it. I don't want to leave you. I don't think I could ever do that. But I - I'm scared." He swallowed hard making his Adams apple bob up and down, which Hermione took to mean he had more to say so she nodded her head in silent encouragement. "I'm scared, Hermione. How am I supposed to protect you - " Hermione forced herself not to react by pointing out that she could take care of herself thank you very much, " - when everyone's gonna know that you're my...that we're..."

"Married?" she supplied.

Harry nodded, before stealing himself and repeating; "..._Married_."

Hermione resisted the urge to beam at him, for as difficult as it appeared for him to have pushed that one word past his lips, there was no mistaking the spark of delight visible in his eyes as he did so.

"You're going to be a target now, Hermione," he continued, his voice sounding stronger and more assured as he opened up to her, "and I can't promise I'll be able to keep you safe - Voldemort has obviously got it in for me. My parents died because they loved me, I don't think I could go on if that happened to you."

Hermione blinked back a fresh wave of tears as understanding bloomed. Harry hadn't been angry _that_ they were married, he was angry that she had been placed in such a position of jeopardy without a choice. "Oh Harry!" she exclaimed and threw her arms around his neck pressing her lips against his fiercely.

For the briefest of instants she felt him tense at the contact, before he relaxed into her embrace and wrapped his arms around her waist returning the kiss urgently.

Hermione lost herself in the moment; their kiss after the second task had taken her breath away, and the lingering embrace they had shared in the great hall the following day had both been wonderful, but this? This was something - _more_. She couldn't feel her legs, and was certain she would collapse if Harry removed his hold on her. Magic seemed to crackle both around and through them, making every her every hair stand on end. She could taste the saltiness of her tears (or were they Harry's) as she deepened the embrace, forcing all thoughts from her mind, as she moulded herself around Harry's body, marvelling absently at how well they fitted together, almost as if their very souls were entwining.

An indeterminate amount of time later, they broke apart, panting slightly, their cheeks flushed. Both wore equally coy smiles, and neither of them quite seemed sure where to direct their gazes.

Hermione dropped down from her tip-toed stance, clasping her conjoined hands around the back of Harry's neck, regarding him silently for a moment. His pupils were dilated in the shadowy light of the infirmary, allowing her to see her own reflection in his tender gaze; her eyes were red and puffy, and her cheeks were moist with tears - _hardly the most attractive I've ever looked,_ she caught herself thinking. But the way Harry looked at her made her lips break into a wide smile.

"I love you, Harry Potter." she said, still gazing up into Harry's eyes breaking the silence with the words she had, thus far, not had to opportunity to voice aloud.

Harry removed one of the hands he still held around her hips and placed it above his heart, his shy smile morphing into a wide grin. "I know," he said, and with a jolt Hermione understood precisely what he meant. Not only could she feel her own love for Harry, but, incredibly, their bond apparently permitted her to experience the love he felt for her - the intensity of his feelings for her made her breath catch in her chest once more.

"Come on, Harry - " she said, taking his hand and guiding him back across the infirmary.

"I know," he interrupted, "we need to talk."

"Yes," Hermione conceded, "we do. But right now, we're going to bed."

oOo

Several hours later when Madame Pomfrey exited her office, that also served as a secret corridor to her personal chambers, she found the two teens fast asleep on their beds. They had apparently fallen asleep facing one another, their left and right hands respectively, hanging over the edge of their mattresses to bridge the small gap between them, their fingers still tightly entwined with each others, even in sleep.

The healer watched as their chests rose and fell in a synchronised rhythm, their faces a mask of contentment, and she permitted herself a brief smile at the sight; she was pleased that the two students, whom she had grown very fond of over their time at Hogwarts, had come to terms with their bonding - not least because of the troubling medical implications of rejected bond mates - but because they were very clearly made for one another.

Pomfrey remembered all too well Harry's dutiful and anguished bedside vigil during their second year, as Hermione lay petrified for many long months, and in turn the young witch was always the first to arrive and the last to leave on the all to frequent times that Harry found himself admitted to the hospital wing.

In hindsight, her surprise at the discovery of their bonding was a little naive - they were clearly devoted to one another.

Their brief, albeit very loud argument (one which she ensured did not reach the schools rumour mill by placing a privacy charm around the hospital wing) had been inevitable - soul bonds between adults were rare enough, and often took many months to stabilize. But between children - well it was all but unheard of. That, when added to their relative emotional immaturity (although young Miss Granger often appeared well in advance of her years in that regard) meant the next few weeks could be very trying for them both, and the healer made a silent vow to help them both through it as best she could.

Not wishing to wake them from their peaceful slumber, the healer turned on her heel and returned to her office, pulling the door shut quietly behind her.

oOo

Returning to the normalcy of every day life as a student come Monday morning was anything but for Hermione and Harry. For whilst they had both been pronounced fit to be discharged from Madame Pomfrey's care (providing they reported to her three times a week so that she could monitor both their bond and Hermione's core stability) they were both aware that things were going to be very different from now on.

Not only could they now 'feel' much of what the other person was experiencing, even from their separate dorms (thankfully the overwhelming need to be in physical contact with one another had faded somewhat), but only now, had they had a chance to discuss the very real fact that, according to wizarding law at any rate, they were married.

Surrounded by privacy and distraction charms in the Gryffindor common room, the couple had talked well into the night after their release from hospital, eventually coming to the conclusion that, no matter how happy the prospect of being married to one another made them, or what their legal status was, they both wanted the opportunity to first explore their relationship as boyfriend and girlfriend. In the spirit of their decision, Harry had invited Hermione on a date to Hogsmeade the following weekend; an offer Hermione was only too happy to accept.

They had also decided, after consulting with Professor Dumbledore, that keeping the details of their marriage secret would be best; Dumbledore had agreed with Harry's assessment that Hermione would become an instant target if the extent of their relationship were to be revealed to the greater wizarding world. Both Ron and Madame Pomfrey - the only other people who knew of their bonding - had offered their assurances that they would not tell a soul what they knew.

The headmaster had further assured them that he would personally ensure that there would be no public record of their marriage, until such time as they wished to announce it, that was. The professor had also spoken of possible changes to their legal rights, as they were now, technically speaking at any rate, adults. What those changes might have been, he did not say, but he had inferred that a trip to London he had planned for latter that week should provide, at least some, of the answers.

Secretly, Hermione was overjoyed that her own suggestion had been discounted out of hand by the headmaster. She had, albeit unwillingly, suggested that perhaps she and Harry should attempt to conceal every part of their relationship from the student, and therefore wider wizarding population, and once again appear as nothing more than friends in public.

"No, Miss Granger," he had replied. "I do not believe that would be the best course of action, and may, in fact, rouse far greater scrutiny than if you were to continue your fledgling romance."

Hermione had nodded happily; she didn't believe she was truly capable of keeping her hands off Harry anyway, but she felt obliged to at least suggest the idea.

So it was as a couple then, that Harry and Hermione had made their way back into daily school life, the week after the second task (although all that had occurred over the weekend ensured that the tournament's second challenge felt a great deal further in the past than that). With no concrete facts to go on to explain the couples unusual disappearance for most of Sunday, the Hogwarts grape vine simply invented possible reasons, ensuring that whispered conversations followed them wherever they went.

Both through their bond, and by the simple act of feeling Harry's grip on her hand tense, when they caught snatches of those murmured gossipings, Hermione knew Harry wanted nothing more than to turn around and hex those, who had over the years, been so fickle to have believed him to be, at one time or another, either, The-Boy-Who-Lived_, _vanquisher of Lord Voldermort_, and_ the heir of Slytherin, hater of all muggles and muggle-borns. But each time she felt him ready to utter an angry retort she gave his hand a comforting squeeze and lifted her chin defiantly to glare at the perpetrators, silencing their mindless chatterings, and simultaneously calming Harry's rising ire.

By the end of the week, no one was foolish enough to discuss the couple whilst they were within earshot, and although neither Harry nor Hermione were naive enough to believe the rumour mill had stopped completely, not having to endure the constant murmurings every day, improved both of their moods considerably; Harry's even more-so when he received a letter in the Great hall on Friday.

"Who's it from?" asked Ron through a mouthful of bacon, as Harry tore open the envelope that Hermione recognised as being delivered by the owl he had sent the Hogsmeade dates to Sirius with.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron's continuing bad table manners, but held her tongue. The redhead, perhaps not wanting to be 'the third wand' in their romance, had not spent as much time as normal with either of them over the last week, and she was simply pleased to have the three of them sitting down together again. The last thing she wanted was for her relationship with Harry to distance herself from her other best friend - she would have to have a quiet word with him, she decided.

"It's from Sirius," replied Harry, his voice little more than a whisper, turning the short note so that both Hermione and Ron could read it.

"He hasn't come back to Hogsmeade?" asked Ron, his tone caught somewhere between being deeply impressed and astonishment.

"It looks like it," put in Hermione.

"I can't believe it," replied Harry. "If he's caught..."

Hermione noted, that although Harry's tone was tense, she couldn't mistake the warm glow she felt inside as anything other than Harry's joy at the prospect of seeing Sirius again flowing through their shared link - her lips quirking into an involuntary smile in response.

Harry's, and therefore Hermione's, good mood lasted only as long as the trio's decent of the steps to the dungeon for their final lesson of the week - double potions.

As they arrived at the still closed classroom doors, they saw Malfoy, surrounded, not only his gormless body guards, Crabbe and Goyle, but also, and rather unusually, a gang comprising Pansy Parkinson and the rest of the Slytherin fourth year girls. They were all standing in a close huddle, sniggering and guffawing stupidly over something they kept concealed from the approaching Gryffindors.

"There they are, they're they are!" giggled the pug-faced witch as the knot of Slytherins broke apart.

Hermione just had time to note that the item they had obviously found so amusing was the latest edition of the wizarding magazine - _Witch Weekly_ - before Pansy threw it towards her, taking care to aim directly at Hermione's face.

She felt Harry's had slip out of her own, but Ron reacted first, swatting the magazine away just moments before it struck her between the eyes.

"You might find something to interest you in there, Granger!" squealed Pansy as the magazine fell to the floor with a soft flump, the dungeon door opening at exactly the same instant.

Professor Snape beckoned them inside, and, having paused to retrieve the offending article, the trio made their way to their usual table at the rear of the classroom, arranging the ingredients of the Wit-Sharpening potion that Snape was writing instructions on the board at the head of class, across the table in front of them.

"That was quite a save, mate," said Harry in the same barely audible voice the three friends had perfected using in their four years of enduring Snapes classes. "You should try out for Keeper."

Only a close friend would have noticed that the tops of Ron's ears had reddened. "Thanks," he replied laconically, before adding. "Actually, I have been thinking about trying out. Do you think Wood would give me a shot in the reserves?"

"Honestly!" said Hermione, interrupting Harry's reply, knowing that both of her friends would recognise her tone as playful rather than irritated. "Can the two of you keep your minds off Quidditch long enough to look at this?" and she thrust the magazine, which she had opened at the centre pages under their noses.

Putting their heads together the trio leant closer. A colour photograph of Harry adorned the page, underneath which was a short piece entitled HARRY POTTER'S ENSNARMENT:

A_ boy like no other perhaps - yet a boy suffering from all the usual pangs of adolescence, _writes Rita Skeeter._ Deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents, fourteen-year-old Harry Potter thought he had found solace in his steady girlfriend at Hogwarts, Muggle-born Hermione Granger. _

_However, your intrepid reporter, has unearthed evidence that Harry's infatuation with the plain but ambitious girl, has little to do with her, somewhat doubtful natural charms._

_During the most recent tri-wizard task, where the champions were tasked with retrieving a 'hostage' from the depths of the great lake, Harry, the Hogwarts Champion, was somehow persuaded by Miss Granger, utilising means unknown, to not only abandon his own hostage in favour of rescuing her, but also to interfere with the hostages of the other schools champions, ensuring they could not complete the task - an act which has cost Harry Potter the outright lead in the championship after his score was penalized by Durmstrung High Master Igor Karkaroff, who's own student, Bulgarian superstar seeker, Viktor Krum, was adversely affected by those actions._

_Frightened students are in no doubt as to how Miss Granger is able to exert such influence over Harry:_

_'She's quite brainy,' says a pretty and vivacious fourth year student, who wishes to remain anonymous for fear of reprisals, 'she'd be well up for making a love potion. She was also far too knowledgeable about several advanced spells our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher spoke about, especially the Imperius Curse - I think that's how's she's doing it.'_

_Love potions are of course banned at Hogwarts, and no doubt Albus Dumbledore will want to investigate these claims. Let us hope, for the headmasters sake, that only these lesser allegations can be proven._

_In the meantime, Harry Potter's well wishers must hope that, next time, he bestows his heart upon a worthier candidate. _

Hermione jumped as she finished the article as Harry slammed his pestle down onto the desk, crushing several of the scarab beetles they were supposed to be grinding up to add to their potion.

Snape spun around at the front of the class, his icy glare immediately settling on Harry as he took in the scene towards the rear of his classroom. "Yet more blatant vandalism, Potter?" Snape spat. "Ten points from Gryffindor."

The lanky haired professor seemed poised to returning to his unfinished written instructions when his glare came to rest on the magazine lying open on the table before the three Gryffindors. "Ah...reading magazines in my class as well?" he added as glided between the desks, his black eyes glittering with malice. "A further ten points," he said as he snatched the copy of Witch Weekly off the desk.

For a brief moment, Hermione believed that the Slytherin head-of-house was simply going to fold the magazine lengthwise and tuck it inside his black robes. Her hopes, however, were to be dashed.

The magazine was still folded open at the centre page and understanding blossomed on the vindictive teachers face as his gaze fell upon the image of Harry. "Oh, but of course, Potter has to keep up with his press cuttings."

The dungeon rang with the Slytherins cruel laughter and an unpleasant smile curled Snapes thin mouth, before he began to read the story aloud.

Hermione was furious; her right hand making it as far as the shaft of her wand ready to hex the insufferable bully before she realised, that whilst, yes, she was _incredibly_ angry with the potions master, the wave after wave of murderous venom she felt pounding through her veins, came, not from her, but from Harry.

She shot a glance in Harry's direction as Snape continued his cruel tirade, _"...deprived of love since the tragic demise of his parents_..." to find him visibly shaking with rage - his green eyes unblinking, staring daggers at his tormentor, who continued, apparently unaware that Harry's balled fists were aglow with what Hermione recognised, as a run away cascade of his magical energies - identical to the one she had experienced herself less than a week ago.

"Ron, help me!" she yelled, grabbing Harry's arm and pulling him off of his stool, instinctively realising she had to get her husband as far away from Snape as was possible.

"You will sit down, Miss Granger," ordered Snape, still apparently ignorant of her motivations.

"Piss off!" said Ron, following Hermione's lead and grabbing Harry's other arm, the two friends physically dragging him out of the classroom, a hail of abuse from the Slytherins at their heals.

Staggering out of the classroom, they physically dragged Harry's limp form up the stairs, his shoes banging on each step as they hefted his insensate body up the winding staircase.

"Where do we take him?" panted Ron as they stumbled onto a landing.

Hermione bit her lip, considering their options: The infirmary? _Too far_. Likewise, both Dumbledore's and McGonagall's offices. "We've got to get him some air," she answered at length. "Through here!" she barked, and pulled them towards a rarely used doorway that opened out onto a small courtyard that only really saw any use in the warmer summer months.

A cold drizzle was falling as the trio staggered out of the narrow doorway and into the frigid air outside, both Hermione and Ron collapsing in unison under the weight of their burden, the threesome falling to the floor in an ungainly heap.

"Harry!" Hermione called desperately as she detangled herself quickly and sought out her soul mates eyes.

Harry mouth was slightly ajar, his panted breaths coming very fast, his eyes wild and unfocused.

"What's wrong with him?" Ron asked.

"Shush Ronald," Hermione snapped, her concern for Harry paramount in her mind - she would apologise to her friend later. "We need to - " but whatever instructions she had been about to issue, died on her lips as Ron let out a yelp of pain.

"Hermione!" he yelled. "The rain! Look."

Sure enough, the early March drizzle was no longer tiny droplets of water, but incredibly, minuscule streaks of fire instead - like the molten ejections of a tiny volcano. Hermione didn't even want to consider how much power it required to literally set fire to the rain, but she knew, even as the fire rain fell, burning small holes in her uniform and singeing her skin, that Harry was somehow responsible, and it was only going to get worse if the growing crackling energy that now engulfed his palms was anything to go by.

"Harry?" she repeated. "Harry my love, it's okay; it's me."

Harry did not respond, but the glow emanating from his fists did fade slightly.

"That's good, Harry," she encouraged. "You need to focus...here," she added in sudden inspiration, grasping Harry's hand and placing it over her own racing heart. "We'll do it together."

Closing her eyes, she attempted to slow her own heart rate and ragged breathing, whilst her subconscious mind sought out the connection they shared, in an attempt to channel some of her control through it, to him.

Her mind travelled the link between them, finding herself an instant later in an unfamiliar world that had to be Harry's mindscape. But where her subconscious mind had envisioned her magical core as a flame, Harry's mind had chosen to represent his magical energy as a wand; a wand which was pulsating violently, belching out powerful, uncomfortably familiar, vivid green energy.

Glancing around the otherwise empty space, Hermione's 'eyes' fell on what was obviously the form Harry's mind had chosen to represent itself; a small black haired boy. The boy - Harry aged about five she realised - was curled up in the foetal position a few feet from the wand, sobbing uncontrollably.

Hermione immediately wanted to run over and comfort him, but she had no corporeal form here - no legs to carry her - so how was she to bridge the gap between them. No sooner had the thought entered her mind, than she found herself 'crouching' next to the infant Harry, pulling him into a tight embrace with her 'arms'.

_Come on Harry, _she projected across their link._ We'll do it together._

oOo

A moment later, Hermione opened her eyes, satisfied that Harry's magical energy was now stable, to find Ron's blue eyes boring into her, his features a mask of concern, his wand held aloft, a shield charm protecting them from the remnants of the now dissipating fire rain.

"Merlin, Hermione. I thought you were never coming round." he said, muttering the counter spell to cancel his shield. "You've been in a kind of...I dunno, _trance_, for almost ten minutes," he explained. "Is he okay now? What was wrong with him? Can we move him?" his questions were rapid fire, but she latched onto Ron's last four words.

"We need to get him to Dumbledore," she said, knowing the august wizard would be the only one likely to have any answers to both Ron's questions and the many others racing around her overcrowded mind. "Can you help me get him up?"

Ron nodded, but as he bent to heft his best friend up, Harry blinked, his glazed expression vanishing, and he immediately focused on Hermione.

"What was _that_?" he asked.

"We don't know, Harry," she answered truthfully even as her heart soared that he seemed unharmed. "We think we should go to Professor Dumbledore."

Harry nodded in agreement.

"Can you stand mate?" Ron asked, holding out a hand, which Harry clasped.

"Yeah. I think so," he grunted as he pulled himself up onto unsteady legs where he swayed slightly.

In an instant, Hermione snaked her arm around his waist, placing his right arm over her shoulder, as Ron mirrored her actions on his other side, and together, the trio made their way slowly towards the stone gargoyle that guarded the headmasters private study.

_**A/N**__ - Guys, can I just say a HUGE thank you to everyone who has alerted, favourited or reviewed on this story - the response (especially for the last chapter) has been simply incredible! I am truly taken aback by your kind words of encouragement and praise. _:D

_Enough of my gushing! Back to the chapter... _

_I didn't want the fact that they were bonded to mean that Harry and Hermione were going to enjoy some kind of blissful, perfect relationship (hands up who's marriage is like that?), so I thought a good argument would be a sure fire way to make sure that wasn't the case. Besides, I've always wanted to have a go at writing CAPTAIN CAPS LOCK! We all know Harry gets broody and angry when he is scared, but he's got Hermione now to off set that particular character trait. _

_Oh by the way, I should add, there will **not** be any smut in this fic - they may be married, but they are still just kids, and I wanted to draw attention to the fact that they slept in different beds. _

_This was also the first chapter in a while where we have dipped back into canon, so here I will give a nod to JKR - a fair amount of the third act was pinched word for word from GoF chapter twenty seven. Although I did change the Rita report to reflect the changes to the timeline. I also liked the idea of Ron showing his Keeper skills a bit earlier than in canon, stopping Hermione getting a black eye in the process._

_The chapter title is, of course, inspired by the majestic track of the same name by Adele. I had been wondering what manifestation Harry's magical outburst (that will be explained over the next chapters) should take, when the track came on the radio and it just seemed to fit perfectly. I hope it works._

_Till next time peeps,_

_Wings x_


	8. Chapter 8 Harbinger

**Chapter Eight – Harbinger**

A few minutes later, the trio rounded a corner on the second floor that led to the entrance to Dumbledore's private sanctum, Ron, Hermione noted, half a step in front, perhaps subconsciously taking point, and, although she knew that walking the corridors of Hogwarts could hardly be viewed as the most dangerous of enterprises (basilisk attacks notwithstanding), Hermione was none-the-less grateful for her friends desire to protect them - however unwitting.

It was a position he had assumed since Harry, who had grown increasingly steadier on his feet as they had climbed the castles multitude of staircase, had shrugged off his assistance two floors bellow. But although Hermione was pleased that Harry had felt strong enough to dispense with his human crutch and walk unassisted, she knew, by virtue of the firmer than normal grip he maintained on their conjoined hands, that he was still relying on her for more than just her emotional support - he was just too proud to let Ron see it.

"So," said Ron, pulling Hermione from her thoughts as his long legs brought him to a halt before the stone gargoyle. "Does anyone...er...like, know the password?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but closed it just as promptly, realising, that although she remembered the password from her last visit to the headmasters office after the second task (Jelly Babies), that had been last month. During that time the entrance of the headmasters office occupied a quiet corridor up on the seventh floor. It was likely, she realised, that since the office had magically altered the location of the entrance staircase since her last visit, it was highly probable that the password would also have changed by now.

She was about to voice her line of thought aloud, when, as if shaken by the footfalls of unseen giants on the floors above, the corridor began to vibrate dislodging minuscule fragments of mortar from the ceiling which rained down on the trio, coating their hair in a fine layer of dust. Although soundless at first, the vibration gave way to a rumble that sounded like the crashing of waves against a distant shore. It took a moment for her mind to fathom out that the sound was that of the spiral staircase hidden behind the stone sentry in movement, the gargoyle stepping aside a moment later to permit egress to whoever rode the escalator.

"Oh. Hello," came a dreamy voice. "Professor Dumbledore will be quite pleased to see that you are on time - he's been expecting you."

The owner of the voice was a small girl who had stopped at the bottom of the stairway. She had long, dirty blonde hair, which was secured into a loose ponytail with what appeared to be a home made hair band made of coarse string and adorned with what looked like an insect made from muggle pipe cleaners and glitter. Her wand was tucked behind her ear, and, completing the distinctly dotty first impression she was making, Hermione saw that the girl was barefoot.

Hermione also noted that although the student wore the bronze and blue of Ravenclaw, she was certain that they had never shared a class with the newcomer, suggesting this student was from another year group - probably bellow their own if her diminutive stature was anything to go by.

The girls wide, unblinking, grey eyes wandered across each of them in a vaguely uninterested manner, her eyes never quite lingering on either one of them, rather she appeared to be starring straight past them. _Or straight through us,_ a distant part of Hermione's mind suggested, as the silence the newcomers arrival had initiated in the three friends continued to lengthen.

For her part, Hermione was unsure whether her own silence was motivated by the unusual physical appearance of the peculiar girl before them, or by her odd statement - how could Dumbledore be expecting them? Could Snape have already informed the headmaster that they had walked out of his lesson? Were they in trouble?

"I'm sorry," continued the girl in a tone that suggested she was both completely untroubled by the silence, that by anyone's standards, could now be described as uncomfortable, or by the fact that the three older students were all but gawking at her. "My father always told me not speak to strangers too," she said, having apparently come to her own conclusions to explain the Gryffindors silence. "I'm Luna Lovegood. There," she said smiling broadly, "now we are not strangers anymore."

Harry and Hermione shared a bewildered look before Ron spoke; "I know you," he said, a flare of recognition in his blue eyes. "You're Loon - "

" - _Ooof_."

Hermione silenced her friend with an elbow to the ribs, causing him to dispel all the air in his lungs very rapidly.

She was well aware of the cruel nickname Ginny had told them that one of her classmates had been saddled with, and now that the girl before them had introduced herself, Hermione wondered why she hadn't made the mental connection before.

The protuberant eyes; her unusual fashion sense and demeanour. Really this student could not be anyone other than Loony Lovegood, as her peers had unkindly named her; a name she had just managed to prevent Ron, who she noted out of the corner of her eye was vigorously massaging his ribs, from repeating to her face.

Being forced to live with the frequent abuse from the Slytherin's regarding her non-magical lineage, and having spent much of her early muggle education taunted by bullies, intimidated, amongst other things, by her superior intellect, Hermione was not about to subject the poor girl to more name calling, even though she was certain that Ron had meant no malice by repeating the nickname he had heard. In fact, she realised shooting another glance towards her friend, the redhead did now look suitably chagrined with what he had almost let slip.

Ron might have done a lot of growing up in the last few weeks, but, she reminded herself, he was still a fifteen year old boy: and fifteen year old boys could be very tactless sometimes.

To the younger girl she said; "Hello, Luna. I'm - "

" - Hermione Granger," interrupted Luna. "Yes, I know. Although you do seem different somehow..._older_ - "

In spite of herself, Hermione couldn't prevent her right eyebrow from arching to the ceiling in surprise._ She knows!_ she thought_. Somehow she knows._

_But how? _There were only five people alive who knew that she possessed the magical signature of another Hermione Granger; one from a least a decade into what, from their point of view, was the future, and she was quite certain that none of those people would betray her confidences.

Was it possible, she wondered as the the young blondes eyes raked over her in a far more clinical manner than they had done before, for someone to be able to, for want of a better turn of phrase, 'see' a persons magical aura?

But even as the thought coalesced in her mind, she discounted it. The only person she had ever heard refer to an 'aura' in the magical world was that old fraud of a fortune teller, Professor Trelawney, and, as a point of principle, Hermione would require an awful lot of convincing of anything that the Divination Professor believed to be true before she would take it as fact.

As if to confirm her line of reasoning, Luna deadpaned; " - have you done something different with your hair?"

Ron stifled a snigger, which was quickly silenced by another look from Hermione; one she had taken straight out of the Molly Weasley handbook of angry glares.

"You are quite famous you know?" continued Luna, looking at each of them in turn, her expression returning to the distracted, dream-like one she had worn when she had first stepped off of the escalator. "Some people call you the Golden Trio."

The wry grin that Harry was doing a poor job of hiding suggested that he, like Ron, found Luna's meandering conversation amusing, but Hermione was loosing patience. As much as she didn't want to be cruel to the youngster, she had to get Harry to Dumbledore.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Luna," she said in a clipped voice. "But, you said Dumbledore was expecting us, so - "

"Oh, don't mind me," said Luna. "Go right up," she added as if she were Dumbledore's personal assistant, and she stepped aside from her position at the foot of the stairs allowing the three Gryffindors to file past.

"And Harry," Luna called as Hermione and Harry stepped onto the slowly revolving escalator. "I wouldn't eat any of Professor Dumbledore's lemon drops if I were you. They're laced with toadflax sap, and you look quite queasy enough already."

Ignoring Harry's befuddled expression, Luna turned around and skipped away.

"What's toadflax sap?" Harry asked as he watched as Luna was lost to sight as the staircase carried them upwards.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think it exists, Harry," she replied matter-of-factly.

"She's barking!" said Ron, grinning widely.

Hermione opened her mouth to admonish Ron once more, but shut it quickly when she found she agreed with his assessment. Luna Lovegood was definitely what her grandmother would have referred to as 'an odd duck'.

The three friends fell into a companionable silence as they neared the landing at the summit of the revolving staircase whilst Ron attempted to brush away the fine dust that had settled on his hair and shoulders, which, in the dim torch lit space, made his usually flaming red hair appear a sandy blonde.

His efforts were however, unsuccessful, managing only to aggravate his sinuses with the small dust cloud he had created, causing him to expel a powerful sneeze with echoed around the confined space loudly.

Rolling her eyes at her best friend, Hermione extracted her wand. "Her," she said. "Let me," and with a quick, well practised, flick of her wrist she vanished the remnants of the mortar from all three of them.

"Have I ever told you that you're brilliant, Hermione?" he asked as staircase deposited them on the landing, covering the short distance to the oak door to Dumbledore's office at their heels.

Harry raised his fist and knocked once, the headmasters voice immediately ringing out from the other side, inviting them in.

"Ah, Harry! Miss Granger, Mr Weasley," said Dumbledore by way of greeting as they pushed the door aside. "Miss Lovegood told me to expect you this afternoon. Lemon drop?"

As Harry, perhaps motivated by Luna's earlier warning, declined his offer, Hermione's brow reached for her hairline for the second time in as many minutes. "Luna, told you we were coming?" she asked, unable to hide the disbelief in her voice.

"Yes Miss Granger," replied Dumbledore, smiling broadly as he conjured two more chairs for the trio to sit on alongside the one that Luna had presumably vacated. "Don't let Miss Lovegoods outward appearance fool you. I count myself very fortunate to have gotten to know the young Miss Lovegood reasonably well these past few years and I have discovered that she, like her mother before her, is quite adept at perceiving things that many of us are either incapable of, or," he added regarding her over his glasses, "unwilling to see."

Hermione lowered her quirked brow as a disquieting sensation settled in her stomach. Perhaps her first instinct had been correct. If what Dumbledore was saying was true and Luna Lovegood was truly aware of things beyond this reality, could it be possible for Luna to discern the magical core of her elder self she held within her?

Not knowing what to believe anymore she returned her attention to Dumbledore, noting that the headmaster was speaking once more, inviting them to sit.

Acquiescing, she slid into the unoccupied wing backed chair on Harry's right.

"So," said Dumbledore, leaning forward in his chair resting his chin atop his conjoined hands which he supported by placing his elbows on his desk. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"It's Harry," supplied Ron. "He had an...umm..." but his words trailed away, perhaps under the scrutiny of Harry's stern look. A look which very clearly said,_ I can tell him myself, mate_.

The Headmaster smoothly switched his attention to Harry, who had unconsciously taken the middle of the three chairs, flanked by his best friends. After clearing his throat, Harry picked up Ron's unfinished explanation, and continued to describe, in as much detail as he could recall, what had happened since arriving at the potions classroom earlier that afternoon.

Although outwardly Dumbledore's expression remained impassive as Harry detailed the white hot rage he had tried to suppress whilst he had been publicly humiliated at Professor Snapes hands, there was no mistaking the manner in which his blue eyes hardened, leaving none of the trio in doubt, that Dumbledore had reached the end of the considerable leeway he had thus far been willing to extend to the potions master.

For the briefest of moments, Hermione felt a tug of sympathy (or was it pity?) for Professor Snape.

Having, albeit unjustly, been on the receiving end of Dumbledore's wrath all to recently, Hermione did not envy the inevitable dressing down the Slytherin head-of-house would be called to attend at the headmasters study that evening. _He brought it on himself, _she reminded herself, squashing the nascent emotion before she had fully registered it.

" - I don't remember anything else, until I woke up in the courtyard," concluded Harry, pulling Hermione from her musings as he directed his gaze towards her in an obvious invitation for her to continue as he obviously had no knowledge of what had occurred whilst he was unconscious.

Smoothly picking up the story, Hermione explained how they had physically removed Harry from the classroom, and how she had entered his mind via their link to help Harry control his cascading magic. Out of respect to Harry's privacy, she elected to keep the form his subconscious had chosen to take to herself; a decision, she noted, that was rewarded with a wave of gratitude flooding through her from Harry, courtesy of their bond. She hadn't, until that point, known if Harry had even been aware of her presence in his mind, or of the almost maternal role she had taken on in an attempt to sooth him: Clearly he had, and he was extremely grateful that she had elected not to volunteer that particular piece of information.

As she finished her explanation, which included Ron's quick thinking use of a shield charm to protect them against the fire rain, she noted that Dumbledore was looking at her appraisingly.

"Well Miss Granger," he said at length once their revelations were completed. "It appears we owe you a debt of gratitude. Uncontrolled magical outbursts in witches or wizards of Harry's age and power can be quite, _devastating_..."

The headmasters voice, which had taken on a hollow quality, faded to nothing, his eyes adopting a distant, far away look, as if for a moment he was somewhere else entirely. Hermione recognised it as a look of deepest regret; or was it remorse? It was a look that pushed a disjointed memory to the fringes of her consciousness; a memory that Hermione felt certain explained the cause of the headmasters obvious heartache. But whilst it was tantalizingly close - so much so that she could almost give names to the unfamiliar, yet instantly recognisable faces that swam across her inner eye - like so many of the 'memories' she had experienced since her core had amalgamated with her elder selves, it was only a fleeting sensation, the memory slipping away into the abyss of her mind a moment later.

Fleeting would also best describe Dumbledore's momentary despondency, his sapphire eyes alive with delight once more as he continued; "Your cool headed use of the bond you share to lend Harry the self control he, at that moment lacked, to stem his rising temper has almost certainly saved the school from being turned into a pile of rubble."

Harry's hung his right hand over the arm of his chair, searching Hermione realised, for her own. She slipped her hand into his and was rewarded with a brief squeeze which very clearly said, _thank you._

_You're welcome, Harry, s_he thought back, returning the squeeze_._

"What I'd like to know sir," interjected Harry after a moment of quite contemplation. "Is how it happened in the first place. Malfoy and Snape - " no one missed the fact that the headmaster did not offer his usual correction to Harry's omission of Snape's title as a professor, " - are always taunting me. It's never made me loose control like that before. Even when I was a kid, the most I ever managed to do was to vanish a pane of glass, or shrink a jumper if I got angry."

Hermione's lips curled into a small smile as, courtesy of their link, she shared an image of Harry's cousin Dudley shrieking in terror as Harry unwittingly vanished the protective glass frontage of a Boa Constrictors enclosure.

Dumbledore nodded sagely. "Ah. I'm glad you asked," he said in a delighted tone. "It is perhaps ironic indeed, that the very connection you share with Miss Granger. The very same link which granted her assess into your mind to halt your run away magic," he continued, beaming at Hermione, "is the very thing which initiated your loss of control."

"I don't understand, sir." replied both Harry and Hermione, eliciting a grin from Ron and a warm smile from the headmaster.

"No. I don't suppose you would," he said. "You see, your bond permits you to share more than just each others emotions and memories, it, quite literally, links your magic."

Hermione's brow knitted together in concentration as her mind worked over both the new snippet of information, whilst it simultaneously came to the realisation, that so caught up had she become in their fledgling romance with Harry, that she hadn't even considered a visit to the library to trowel the archives for information on soul bonds – an omission she intended to rectify as soon as possible.

She had to admit however, that the headmasters statement made sense. If they were linked at such a base level, it was inevitable that they would share more than just transient flashes of emotion or occasional memory flashbacks. If her own magical power was growing due to the additional core she now held within her, it stood to reason that Harry could tap into that power himself, explaining their almost identical displays of cascading magic over the last week.

Aloud she asked; "So Harry's magical strength is going to expand as quickly as mine?"

"That would be my assumption, yes," agreed Dumbledore. "It is a troubling, but I must confess, a somewhat expected consequence of your strengthening bond," continued Dumbledore. "Albeit, one that does perhaps offer us with an opportunity."

"Opportunity?" echoed Ron.

"Indeed, Mr Weasley," said Dumbledore, who rose from his seated position and began to pace the space behind his desk. "It can have escaped none of our notice that Lord Voldemort continues his attempts to regain his power."

Hermione saw Ron visibly flinch at the name, but, and for the first time since she had learnt of the horrors of the wizarding war, she did not outwardly react to the mention of the dark lords name, making her wonder if she now shared some of Harry's inner strength when it came to the man once known as Tom Riddle.

"Furthermore," continued the headmaster. "It is evident that Voldemort has taken a particular...interest in you, Harry."

_No sh..._

_HARRY! _she admonished, cutting off his bad language, even as her subconscious registered that neither of them had spoken aloud.

_Harry?_ she thought, reaching out with her mind.

_Hermione?_ he replied across their mind link.

_This is weird._

_You're telling me! _

_Dumbledore did say that our bond would give us the ability to sense what the other person is thinking or feeling, or even, on occasion..._

_...communicate non-verbally_, finished Harry, making Hermione wonder whether he was accessing his own memories of the conversation in the hospital wing last weekend or hers.

Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly, snapping the teens attention away from their non-verbal conversation, but were relieved to find him smiling broadly at them. "This, may make things much easier," he said.

"What?" asked Ron, looking bewilderedly back and forth between his best friends and the Professor.

Although Dumbledore's beard hid most of his facial features, the crows feet evident around his eyes gave away the large smile etched on his face. "If I am correct, Mr Potter and Miss Granger have recently discovered the ability to communicate non-verbally," he explained, directing his gaze towards the couple, his sapphire eyes searching theirs for confirmation, which they gave with simultaneous subtle nods, causing the twinkle in the headmasters eyes to go into overdrive.

"What I had been about to propose," continued Dumbledore, "is that we may be able to utilise their bond to access the memories of the other Hermione Granger, thus providing us with an insight into forthcoming events. A task that may now prove to be easier as the bond between you continues to strengthen - with your consent of course," he added bowing his head in deference towards both Hermione and Harry.

Hermione nodded her understanding.

_It makes sense Harry_, she projected across their link. _Dumbledore said it himself; Voldemort does seem to have it in for you, so it stands to reason we should try to learn anything we can about what he might be up to now._

_Who says you...the other you, knew anything anyway_, countered Harry, his thoughts accompanied by a wave of concern for her well-being.

_Oh come on Harry! You really think Voldemort's not going to come after you again? We've got to at least try._

After the event, Hermione would never be able to put the experience into words, but although she did not so much 'hear' Harry's voice acquiesce in her mind, she knew he had agreed; almost a mental nod.

Aloud she said: "What would we have to do sir?"

"I hoped you would see the necessity, Miss Granger," replied Dumbledore, beaming at her. "I will require you and Mr Potter to consent to some additional classes."

Hermione couldn't help her face breaking into a wide smile, although she did note that Harry didn't seem quite so pleased, whilst Ron looked positively relieved that he had managed to avoid that particular assignment. "When do we start?" she asked eagerly.

Dumbledore chuckled. "All in good time, Miss Granger. I suggest you take this evening to relax, and as I am led to believe you are meeting with a mutual friend at Hogsmeade tomorrow, I think we can afford to wait at least until after then."

Hermione didn't comment on the fact that Dumbledore obviously knew that they had arranged to meet Sirius, but the manner in which Ron's jaw hung open at a peculiar angle suggested he was at a loss to understand the headmasters almost seer-like insights.

"Besides," continued the headmaster. "I have a matter of great importance to discuss with you all and I think it would serve best if Sirius, in his capacity as your God father, were present Harry. You don't mind if I tag along?"

Hermione felt Harry's hand tense in hers, not needing their mental link to understand that Harry really didn't want the august wizard coming along on their first official date, but their emotions must have shown on his features for Dumbledore quickly added.

"You can send word to me once you have met up with, Snuffles is it nowadays, if you would prefer?"

"Yes sir," said Harry happily. "What is it you need to discuss with us?"

"Tomorrow Harry," replied Dumbledore, his tone, whilst still jovial, undercut with a steel that made it clear that this was not a request. "Now if you don't mind, I have a school to run," and he gestured towards the door.

Less than a minute later, Harry, Hermione and Ron found themselves stepping off the bottom of the spiral staircase into the darkening second floor corridor, their thoughts once more crowded with more questions than answers.

_A/N - Luna! Yay! So pleased we've got to this stage in the story so I can try my hand at writing Miss Lovegood. She's a really tricky character to get right. Too much and she becomes a cartoon of herself; too little, and well, she's just not Luna. Why was she having tea with Dumbledore I hear you ask. Well, if I recall properly she delivered a note from Albus to Harry in HBP? Immediately after that I had an image of Dumbledore taking the slightly odd young ravenclaw under his wing, as it were, for weekly afternoon tea – hence why she was coming down from his office. I can also promise this was not just a Luna cameo – she'll be back in a couple of chapters with a crucial role in the story. _

_Although I enjoyed the Luna moment at the beginning of this chapter, and perhaps Dumbledore's moment of reflection when he was obviously thinking of his sister too, I'm not overly pleased with the way the rest of it turned out. Perhaps I'm having one of my overly critical moments again or more likely I'm just eager to get past this 'explanation' part of the story at get to the meat of it – it feels like we've been in lecture mode explaining the bond and it consequences for ages! Thankfully, just one more chapter before we can move on._

_Anyway, way past my bed time, so, till next time peeps..._

_Wings_


	9. Chapter 9 Gateway

**Chapter Nine - Gateway**

"What 'ave you got in there, Potter?" called the familiar, but unwelcome voice of the school caretaker, Argus Filch, as he pushed through the milling crowd of students waiting to have their Hogsmeade permission slips checked, his hand pointed directly towards the bulging school bag Harry held slung over one shoulder.

"Nothing," said Harry, in what Hermione recognised as his innocent 'who me?' voice, as the purple cheeked squib jostled his way towards the three Gryffindors. Hermione noted that his left eye was doing a very passable impression of mad-eye moody's magical eye as it swivelled this way and that, as if trying to detect any banned items as he continued to wage his one man war against the student population. The rest of his attention remained completely fixed on Harry.

In truth, Harry's bag was close to bursting, stuffed as it was, with as much food as he could smuggle out from the breakfast table as per Sirius's request in his last letter. And whilst it was true that a loaf of bread, a flask of pumpkin juice and several rashers of bacon (kept warm thanks to a handy little spell courtesy of Hermione) could hardly been construed as contraband, even by Filch, none of them welcomed the added scrutiny of any of the staff, save perhaps Dumbledore, when they were on their way to visit the most wanted wizarding criminal anywhere in the world.

"Turn out your bag, Potter," said Filch, panting for breath slightly as he barged his way past a particularly small looking third year.

"Anything you say, sir," replied Harry, in a falsely sincere voice whilst simultaneously pleading for help from Hermione across their link.

As Harry made a show of complying with Flich's demand, Hermione scanned her eyes across the sea of people, her gaze picking out the two people she had most hoped to see in the crowd; Fred and George Weasley.

Chancing her luck, Hermione surreptitiously pointed her wand at the twins, and, being careful to conceal her wand action behind her folded arms, silently summoned the contents of Fred's, or was it George's, back pocket.

Regardless of which twin it proved to be, her aim was true, and several small objects, approximately the size and shape of a muggle marble flew out of the redheads pocket and began sailing across the courtyard towards her.

_Gobstones! _she realised in frustration _Just my luck_.

She had been hoping for a Weasley Wizard Wheeze product to create a distraction. Instead, and, to the best of her knowledge, for the first time in the twins career as pranksters, they held nothing on their persons other than a half dozen harmless wizarding game pieces.

_It'll have to do,_ she decided, and with another subtle flick of her wrist, she hurled the tiny balls towards the stone perimeter wall opposite them, hoping the impact of the tiny glass spheres would be sufficient to draw Filch's scrutiny away from them.

It appeared however, that she had underestimated the Weasley twins.

The thunder clap of noise that resulted from the gobstones making contact with the wall sent Filch's, and every pair of eyes in the courtyard, spinning towards the sounds point of origin.

The point at which the projectiles had struck their target was now rapidly becoming overrun by hundreds of tiny replicas of the original half dozen gobstones; replicas which, upon each impact with one of it's brethren, multiplied a hundred fold, meaning the stone surface of the courtyard was now lost to sight beneath a sea of ball bearing sized spheres.

"Come on," she said, wrapping her arms around the crook in both Ron and Harry's own, "let's go."

Needing no further encouragement, Harry and Ron fell into step behind her and made their way directly to the exit, leaving an enraged Filch slipping and sliding across the tiny balls, succeeding only in causing even more of them to multiply. The resultant laughter continued to reach their ears long after they had lost the castle to sight as they followed the winding path to Hogsmeade.

"That was brilliant, Hermione," said Ron trotting up alongside her.

"Yeah," agreed Harry snaring his fingers around hers as he stepped up on her other side.

"Don't thank me," Hermione replied, grinning widely. "Thank your brothers Ron. That really is some incredible magic they've developed."

"You know Fred and George," replied Ron stringing the last three words together to form one seamless entity, "anything for a laugh."

Hermione pursed her lips in a passable impression of Professor McGonagall. "Perhaps," she conceded, "but think of the applications of a spell like that could have - "

The remainder of the walk into Hogsmeade was a silent affair for both Ron and Harry, as Hermione - as they had become accustomed to over the years when she saw an opportunity to learn something new - had talked animatedly, and rather faster than was usual, about the twins skill at charm work.

" - It must be some adaptation of the _Gemino_ _Charm..." _she added, but stopped short of completing her line of thought as she noticed the looks of amusement sported by both of her companions. "_What?_" she asked with no little measure of annoyance evident in her tone.

"Hermione," replied Harry, his features spreading into a wide grin. "We're here."

Sure enough, as Hermione took stock of her surroundings consciously for the first time, she noted that the winding, sparsely populated lane they had traversed, had now widened into the main shopping street of the only entirely wizarding village in Britain. "Oh," she managed. "Sorry. You know how I get."

"And that's why I love you," beamed Harry, as he bent down and placed a soft kiss on her lips. "You wouldn't be my Hermione any other way."

_My Hermione,_ she thought as her stomach performed a little flip._ I like the sound of that._

"Kinda used to it now," agreed Ron, earning himself a playful swat from Hermione, as Harry led her away into the heart of the little villages shopping street.

The trio headed directly for Gladrags Wizardwear to buy a present for Dobby as a thank you for his help prior to the second task. They had fun picking out the most lurid socks they could find, with Hermione electing to buy the little elf a pair of bright red trousers from the stores goblin range, complete with vivid green suspenders. "He did basically save my life, Harry," she pointed out, when Harry offered to pay for all the gifts. "If he hadn't given you the gillyweed I don't want to think what would have happened. I'm buying them for him."

As the trio departed the store half an hour later, they were greeted by the sounds of the clock, that was set on a small tower at the heart of the village, chiming eleven o'clock. Despite the still relatively early hour, the surprisingly warm March sunshine had gotten to work against the decided chill that had permeated the air first thing that morning. As they were already reasonably warm from their long walk to the village, it wasn't long before they had each dispensed with their cloaks.

"So," said Ron, throwing his cloak over his shoulder. "Where to?"

"A-actually Ron," began Harry falteringly. "Hermione and I...what I mean is...we kind of wanted to..."

Whilst Hermione understood the motivations behind Harry's stuttering explanation, Ron appeared none the wiser.

She was saved the trouble of spelling it out for her best platonic friend as she was passed on either side by a couple of fast moving red blurs. A moment later, Fred and George had their younger brother under each armpit and were pulling him backwards along the street, his heels literally dragging along the compact earth that formed the street surface.

"Gerroff me!" Ron protested loudly, flailing at his elder brothers.

"Little Ronekins was never very good at - " said Fred.

" - taking a hint," concluded George.

Ron stopped struggling, his mouth working into an 'o' shape. "Why didn't you just say?" he asked as the twins released him

"I was trying to," began Harry, having to raise his voice to a half shout to cover the distance Ron had been unceremoniously dragged, but whatever else he had intended to say was lost as Hermione soft lilting laugh filled the air.

"That's two I owe you boys," she said to the twins, her brown eyes filled with mirth.

The twins released their captive and mock bowed to her. "We live to serve," they said in chorus.

"Not to mention - " said George.

" - we've been looking for a guinea pig to test our Gemini Gobstones on," added Fred.

Hermione's eyes lit up. "So it was a variation of the _Gemino charm!_ How did you overcome the problem of..."

"Do you think, oh handsome brother of mine," interrupted George. "That the smartest witch of her age needs a little reminder why we are man handling our little brother out of the star crossed lovers way?"

What ever response Hermione had in mind died on her lips as Harry let out a booming laugh. "I'm sure Fred and George will be more than happy to let you pick their brains later, Hermione," he said smiling affectionately at her. To Ron he added; "We'll see you in two hours. On the road out of town, past Dervish and Banges?"

"Yeah, alright," agreed Ron quickly, who found himself steered away and out of sight by his elder brothers.

"So," said Harry, having watched the three redheads out of sight, his voice sounding a little higher than usual. "Where do you want to go?"

Hermione regarded him in silence for a moment. Harry had both his hands pushed deep into his pockets, his eyes tracing the scuff marks he was subconsciously making in the compacted dirt beneath his feet.

_He's nervous,_ she realised, feeling both pleased and a little uneasy at that knowledge.

On the one hand she was of course happy that Harry obviously wanted their first date to be a success, so much so that he looked more apprehensive than she could ever recall seeing him. But conversely, she didn't want their new relationship to change their easy way with one another.

Evidently she had remained silent too long, for Harry added uncertainly; "There's always...er, Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop."

Hermione wrinkled her nose in disgust. She had heard the other girls from her dormitory giggling about dates they had gone on there; it sounded dreadful. From what she had heard, Madam Puddifoot's was small, tacky and very cramped, with every available inch of floor space devoted to little tables occupied by amorous couples.

She said as much aloud, trying to suppress her dismay that he could have even considered that place somewhere she would enjoy going. But to her surprise, Harry didn't seem offended that she didn't want to go to 'the' couples destination in Hogsmeade. In fact, he looked positively relieved.

"Thank Merlin," he said, running a hand through his hair. "It sounds dreadful, doesn't it?"

"You don't want to go?" she asked.

"No," replied Harry emphatically. "I just..you know...thought you might want to. Now we're a..."

"Oh Harry," she said, failing to hide the small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "You really are hopeless with girls aren't you?"

Harry gave a laconic shrug as Hermione wound her arm around his, moving it slowly down his forearm until he slipped his hand out of his pocket and into hers.

"I do - I do have _something_ planned," he said, with a shy smile. "If you want to I mean."

Hermione quickly agreed and the couple set off towards the southern end of the little village, the closely clustered medieval buildings quickly giving way to scattered cottages with large sprawling gardens.

A quarter of an hour later, Harry and Hermione turned a corner in the lane to reveal a small, secluded meadow beyond a wooden gate. It was surrounded on three sides by tall hedgerows offering them complete privacy, and at the very centre of the carpet of lush green grass lay a tartan patterned picnic rug, complete with wicker basket.

_Harry! _she said speaking across their link._ How in the world..._

_...Dobby_, Harry mentally interrupted by way of explanation.

_I'll have to buy him some shoes to go with those trousers,_ she thought.

"And there I was thinking you were clueless," Hermione said aloud, finding her voice. "It's perfect."

"As perfect as you," replied Harry turning a bright shade of beetroot even Ron would have been proud of as he raised their conjoined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss onto the back of her palm. "Shall we?" he added, gesturing with his free hand.

As they drew closer Hermione noted with relief that she wouldn't need to climb over the large wooden gate to gain entry to the meadow beyond - she had never been the most co-ordinated of people. Instead there was a small swing gate to one side, just large enough to permit one person at a time to enter a 'v' shaped enclosure. Evidently, the person was then supposed to push the gate in the other direction to pass through, with the second person repeating the motions to pass.

When they were a few strides away, Harry slipped his hand from hers and stepped forward to hold the gate ajar for her.

Moderately surprised by his display of gallantry, Hermione sidestepped past him and offered him a sweet smile as she entered the small enclosure. But Harry did not pull the gate towards him to permit her to exit. Instead he took a stride forward, effectively pinning her against the apex of the wooden enclosure the closed gate had formed.

"You know," he said, his lips so close to her in the confined space that she could feel the warmth of his breath. "It's customary to offer a kiss as payment before I can let you pass."

Hermione's smile broadened. As much as she found the shy, embarrassed Harry to be endearing in a sweet kind of way, this was the Harry she had fallen for; confident; assured. She rose up onto her tiptoes with the intention of offering Harry a chaste kiss in 'payment', but as soon as her lips brushed his, a crackle of electricity passed through her whole body and she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer.

Harry seemed momentarily too stunned by her passionate embrace to do anything, but he quickly recovered his composure and returned her kiss with equal vigour.

Perhaps motivated by 'listening' to Hermione's thoughts, Harry quickly took control of their tryst, his hands flying to her face; one hand running through her hair, occasionally balling into a fist, whilst the other spread across her cheek.

Lifting her chin she saw Harry's eyelids flutter shut, but the desire she had briefly caught a glimpse of in his emerald orbs emboldened her and she deepened the embrace further, guiding his hands to her hips, where her pulled her tightly against him, her legs straddling his right, eliciting a moan of pleasure from deep within herself that she didn't even realise she was capable of producing.

Obviously encouraged by her response, Harry's hands began to roam across her body forcing more moans past her lips, joined quickly by some of his own as now Hermione's hands staked their claim over his body.

One of his hands found it's way towards the waistband of her skirt where he paused, evidently waiting for permission; permission she gladly and outspokenly gave him by means of their bond. Harry deftly untucked her shirt and slipped his hand up so that it was brushing along her bare back, leaving a trail of fire in the wake of his touch.

Breaking their frenzied kiss, she arched her back and threw her head backwards, a gasp of delight escaping her as her hips crashed against the tense muscle in Harry's leg as he chose that very same moment to explore her newly exposed neck with his lips.

_Harry!_ she mouthed, unable to form the words.

"Hermione," he growled in response into the nape of her neck as his kisses worked along her jawline and back to her slightly parted lips.

This was like nothing she had ever experienced before. Her heart was doing an excellent impression of a hammer against the inside of her ribs whilst her breathing was coming, like Harry's, in short sharp rasps. Her every nerve ending seemed to tingle, as Harry seemed to know instinctively, exactly what she craved, without ever going too far. _That's because he does,_ the remain vestige of her logical mind pointed out, understanding he was following her desires, directing him to each of her most sensitive spots courtesy of their mind link.

She tangled her hands through his raven hair as their lips crashed together once more eliciting a shudder that seemed to run through every muscle in her body, her resultant moan of pleasure directed into Harry's mouth. With that, Hermione lost herself completely.

oOo

How long they had remained locked in their embrace in the confines of the kissing gate, Hermione could not say.

In retrospect, she realised, it must have been a considerable length of time, for when they had finally broken apart, breathing hard, their clothes dishevelled, there had only been a few moments to sample the picnic lunch Harry had arranged for them before they had to leave to make their rendezvous with Ron and Sirius on the northern outskirts of the village.

She willed her cheeks not to redden as she recalled the details of that morning, as hand in hand with Harry they wound their way along a similar lane on the other side of the village, heading directly towards the shadow of the mountain that rose up above both Hogwarts and the neighbouring village.

Turning a corner Hermione's gaze fell upon a familiar red head of hair and a large black dog who had it's front paws resting on the topmost bar of what Hermione could now make out as a stile. She was grateful it wasn't another kissing gate as she was certain her face would have turned scarlet at the prospect of moving through one in close company with Harry once more.

"Hi Ron, Sirius" said Harry as they drew within range for normal speaking volume.

Sirius returned his greeting by eagerly sniffing at the bulging bag of food he still carried, before turning, and trotting away in the direction of the foothills of the mountain.

"Have fun?" asked Ron wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he made to climb the stile and follow the shaggy dog, earning himself a sotto voce 'git' from Harry and another swat on the arm from Hermione as both hers and Harry's cheeks turned a similar shade of red.

The trio followed Sirius up the rocky path for several minutes in silence before anyone spoke aloud.

"So, how are we gonna send word to Dumbledore?" Ron asked, slightly breathless from the arduous climb over the uneven, boulder strewn ground.

"I - " started Harry, but his answer was rendered mute as a familiar call from above signalled the arrival of Hedwig.

"Hi girl," said Harry happily as his snowy owl settled herself onto his outstretched arm. "Can you take this to Dumbledore for me?"

Hedwig clicked her beak in a manner that clearly confirmed that she could, and Harry ruffled the downy feathers on her breast affectionately once he had attached the pre-written note to Hedwigs leg. A moment later the trio watched as the majestic bird spread her wings and launched herself into the air, her form rapidly receding to the smallest of pin pricks against the pale blue sky.

A booming bark echoed across the mountain path pulling them from their silence revere. Sirius had evidently continued his climb whilst the trio had paused, and was now far ahead of them.

After another ten minutes of ascent, Harry, Ron and Hermione lost sight of the wagging black tail they had been following as Sirius disappeared over a rocky outcropping.

"Where's he gone?" panted Ron as he and the others heaved themselves over the ledge and onto the slightly flatter patch of land.

"There," said Harry, his arm extended towards a narrow fissure in the rock, just wide enough to squeeze through.

Once inside the fissure widened out to reveal a cool, dimly lit cave which had a smell of decaying vegetation co-mingled with stale water. The space held only two other occupants. One was the deceptively fierce looking Hipogriff, Buckbeak, whom Harry and Hermione had rescued almost a year ago on the same night as their jailbreak of Sirius. The trio performed matching low bows, which the Hipogriff promptly returned before they stepped farther into the cave.

The caverns only other occupant, looking very thin and unkempt, was Sirius, who had just transformed from his animagus form.

"Food!" he said in a hoarse whisper. It sounded like he hadn't spoken in months.

Ron nudged Harry in the ribs, breaking the trance like state he seemed to have fallen into since his eyes had landed on his godfather, and he quickly opened his bag and handed over the bread and the still sizzling bacon rashers.

Sirius grabbed the bundle eagerly, ripped open the wrapping and tore into himself a large chunk of bread from the loaf as he flopped to the floor of the cave, perched on a flat, smooth boulder. "Thanks," he said between bites, as he threw a sizeable chunk of bread towards Buckbeak. "I've been living off rats mostly. Can't steal too much food from the village; I'd draw attention to myself."

He grinned up at Harry, but Hermione could tell that the grin Harry gave in return was rather half hearted and reluctant. As pleased as she knew Harry was to see his godfather again, she could also feel his deep seated anxiety that Sirius was placing himself in grave danger of capture by returning.

"What are you doing here, Sirius?" he asked.

"Fulfilling my duty as godfather," replied Sirius. "Don't worry abo - "

Sirius's words trailed away leaving his sentence unfinished. Hermione followed his line of sight and realised that Sirius's gaze was locked on the the fact that Harry and Hermione were holding hands.

Sirius's grin widening and his eyes danced with pleasure, removing much of the haunted look his face still bore from his many years at the mercy of the Dementors of Azkaban.

"Y-you two?" he choked out as he swallowed his mouthful. "You're together?"

Hermione felt a blush rise into her cheeks. She hadn't thought about it before, but this was about as close to 'meeting the parents' as she was ever going to come in her relationship with Harry. She managed a small nod by way of confirmation, which she noticed in her peripheral vision was identical to Harry's response.

"Whoa!" Sirius bounded to his feet, an incompressible string of sounds tumbling out of his mouth. "That's - that's - that's just brilliant!" he declared finally. "I knew you had it in you proglet," he added pulling first Harry, and then Hermione into a tight hug.

Hermione wrinkled her nose in a effort not to comment on the fact that Sirius smelt like wet dog.

"Not just like James after all then, eh, Harry? It took your Dad seven years to finally stop being a prat long enough for he and your Mother to get together."

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione noticed Ron nodding his head emphatically, causing her to wonder once more how long the youngest Weasley had known they were in denial regarding their attraction to one another?

"How long?" Sirius wanted to know, pulling Hermione's attention back to the best friend of her boyfriends father.

"Only a week," said Harry, giving Hermione's hand a squeeze which she recognised as his unspoken amazement that they had only been together for eight days and yet it already felt like they had always been this way. "We got together after the second task."

At the mention of the triwizard championship, and one of Sirius's primary reasons to return to Hogsmeade, Hermione saw the jovial veneer of the former marauder fade away, replaced once more with the steely gaze of a soldier.

"I want to hear all about it," said Sirius, his voice firm but not uncaring. "But later. Right now we have bigger things to worry about."

He nodded his head towards a pile of old wizarding newspapers lying on the floor.

Ron was nearest and so made his way to the corner of the cave where he retrieved the yellowing copies of the Daily Prophet, his eyes scanning the headlines as he made his way back to the group, but as he opened his mouth the share those details he was interrupted by a loud pop, sending all five sets of eyes spinning to the makeshift doorway of the cave, Harry already with wand in hand.

"Forgive my unannounced intrusion," came the familiar voice of Albus Dumbledore from behind them. "I did not think it wise to draw too much attention to your hideout by sending an owl, Sirius."

The group turned as one to find the aged headmaster in a deep bow, his crooked nose almost touching the floor as he waited for Buckbeak's blessings. The hippogriff sinking to one knee a moment later in silent acceptance of their new guest.

"Albus?" said Sirius, his disbelief evident in his tone.

"I see I am not expected," said the professor with a hint of amusement.

"Sorry," said Harry to no one in particular, his comment directed either at Sirius, Dumbledore, or both. "We've only just got here, I haven't had a chance to explain."

"No matter, Harry," replied Dumbledore, before turning to address Sirius. "I was already aware of your visit, Sirius, I merely asked our young friends here if I might be permitted to tag along. You see, I have several matters of great impor - "

Ron, who had been standing slack jawed since the headmasters appearance, suddenly found his voice. "But how did you find us?" he asked. His words tumbling out of his mouth unintentionally if the glow in his cheeks was anything to go by.

Despite perhaps the inappropriateness of the moment the redhead chose to raise his question, Hermione couldn't help but be impressed by Ron's question. She now realised that Harry's letter had made no mention of the cave they now stood in (for even they had not known their destination at that point) merely that they had rendezvoused with Sirius. Although, in hindsight she noted, knowing how good Ron was with tactics, she supposed she shouldn't be overly surprised that he was the first of the trio to register that anomaly

Apparently unfazed by the interruption, Dumbledore smoothly switched topics. "I apparated here as soon as I received Harry's letter, Mr Weasley."

"But that's impossible," said Hermione. "It is impossible to apparate in the grounds of Hogwarts."

Dumbledore's beard twitched indicating he was smiling. "Quite so Miss Granger," agreed Dumbledore. "Impossible for a wizard. I must confess I had some help in my travel arrangements."

Taking a half step to his right, the headmasters flowing purple cloak revealed a diminutive creature with large, green eyes.

"Dobby!" Harry called, moving quickly towards the elf, pulling Hermione along with him.

"Dobby is happy to be seeing Master Harry Potter again," squeaked the little elf.

Hermione knelt down. "Dobby," she said kindly. "You know you don't have to call Harry, Master?"

"Actually," interrupted Dumbledore. "Whilst it is true that Dobby is a free elf, as such he is free to choose whom he wishes to serve. Evidently, Dobby has chosen you, Harry. It is, incidentally, how I was able to locate you," Dumbledore continued. "An elf is always able to locate their master."

The little elf nodded his head quickly, causing his large ears to flap wildly. "Dobby _is_ free Mistress Mione, but Dobby is wanting to work. Dobby is wanting to work for you's - "

_Mistress?_ mouthed Sirius with a smirk, which promptly collapsed as he realised the implications of what the elf had said. "You're married?" he blurted out a second later, effectively cutting off the end of Dobby's statement, his eyes roving from person to person before settling on Dumbledore.

"Yes Sirius, they are married," confirmed Dumbledore. "It is one of several topics I wish to speak with you all about. However, before we begin, I suggest moving to a more _comfortable_ venue. If you would be so kind, Dobby."

Bounding forward eagerly, Dobby clasped each of his hands around one of Harry's and Hermione's respectively, a soft pop echoing around the cavern a moment later announcing their departure.

_A/N_

_Hello again everyone. I'm sorry the update rate has slowed a little in the last few weeks. I can promise you I haven't lost my motivation for the story, I simply just don't have the time with the kids being on school holidays. _

_We are tracking canon reasonably closely in this chapter but with a few small changes, so for anyone who cares; Filch didn't confront them in canon as they left after lunch not after breakfast as they did here. I needed to give Hermione and Harry a bit of time alone, so leaving earlier made sense. Plus arriving in the village before lunch gave me the opportunity to stick in a bit of Gred and Forge. It's only a cameo from the twins, but it's just not a Potter story without them. _

_Also getting the chance to write Sirius and Dobby is always fun (oh by the way I know some people hate Hermione being shortened to Mione, but I think Dobby can get away with it)._

_Strange then that with all my favourite characters in one place that I am a bit disappointed with the end result, but it refused to come together any better than this. Ho hum._

_Till next time boys and girls_

_Wings_


	10. Chapter 10 Secrets and Promises

**Chapter Ten - Secrets and Promises**

It took Hermione several moments to focus on her surrounding as she felt her feet hit terraferma once more as Dobby's small hand released the surprisingly firm grip he had held on her during apparition. She managed to avoid stumbling to the floor as she felt gravity reasserting it's hold on her body, although it was a close run thing. She straightened up and instantly recognised her surroundings: _The Great Hall._

_No, not the hall_, she realised as her senses steadied themselves after what had been her first experience of side-along apparition. It had proven to be a deeply uncomfortable sensation - even more so than her first experience of portkey transportation the previous summer.

Although clearly not the Great Hall, the space she and Harry now found themselves in did bear a number of similarities to vast space that was at the very heart of daily life at Hogwarts. There were four long wooden tables arranged in rows identical to those of the four school houses, although without the long benches that the students would sit on at mealtimes. Instead there were a handful of small wooden chairs scattered around the space. The chamber in which they stood was also approximately the same size; perhaps even slightly larger than the Great Hall, although it did feel somewhat more claustrophobic owing to its much lower ceiling and lack of natural light.

"That was horrible," said Harry, who looked about as green as Hermione felt.

"Mm hmm," said Hermione distractedly as her eyes roved the familiar space, although she did wordlessly agree with Harry. _Now I know what toothpaste feels like when it's squeezed from the tube,_ she thought, projecting the mental image across their link.

Harry's lips cracked into a smile, signifying his agreement of her metaphor. Aloud he asked; "Where's Dobby?"

"Gone back for the others I should think," said Hermione, offering the only logical conclusion she could think of for little elf's absence.

Her theory was proven accurate a moment later as another soft pop echoed around the room; a very pale, bewildered looking Ron and a beaming Sirius appeared from thin air before them, their backs to the facsimiles of the four house tables.

"Where are we?" asked Ron.

"The Hogwarts Kitchens!" proclaimed Sirius, turning slowly on the spot, drinking in every inch of the space. "I've got loads of happy memories of this place. Don't tell me you three have never been in here before?" he asked, his tone teasing.

He was still smiling broadly but Hermione couldn't help but note, as he completed his turn on the spot to face her once more, his smile did not quite extend as far as his eyes. The lack of warmth behind his grey eyes gave his sallow face the same haunted look she recalled from his wanted posters the previous year.

She didn't have time to analyse Sirius's change in demeanour further however, as Ron's eyebrows rose as he too recognised his surroundings. "Oh, yeah. We've been in here before," he said fondly, leaving Hermione in no doubt he was remembering the excellent haul of food the Hogwarts elves had provided him with on his last visit. "Found it before Christmas last year."

Sirius's expressive face took on a look of mock hurt. "A son of a marauder should have found this place first term of first year," he said, speaking directly to his godson.

Harry shrugged. "Too busy trying not to get killed by trolls or Cerberus's I guess," he dead panned, eliciting a roar of laughter from his godfather.

Sirius's mirth was cut shot as another pop signalled the arrival of the last of their party.

"I am pleased to see you are keeping abreast of the latest events," said Dumbledore without preamble. He was holding the same copies of the yellowing _Daily Prophet's_ that Sirius had gathered from the village. Presumably he had brought them back with him.

The headmaster crossed the room in long, purposeful strides that appeared to defy his age, taking a seat at the head, of what Hermione registered, was the equivalent of the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall directly above.

The headmaster, she noted, was once more exuding the same power and authority she had witnessed several times already in the last week; an authority that the rest of the group silently acknowledged by moving to positions on either side of the table. Harry led Hermione to a position on the headmasters right, whilst Sirius and Ron pulled a couple of chairs up opposite them. Only Dobby remained standing, hovering slightly behind Harry.

Dumbledore's eyes moved slowly in a semi-circle across those before him, current and former students alike. His gaze coming to rest on the diminutive elf. He regarded the house-elf with his chin lowered to his chest so that he could peer over his glasses. "Perhaps I could trouble you for some refreshments, Dobby?" he asked, evidently choosing his words carefully so as not to make his request an order.

Dobby blinked his protuberant green eyes once. "Of course Professor," he squeaked and hurried out of sight, presumably to procure whatever left overs there were from lunch.

_If I'd have known we were coming back here,_ Hermione 'heard' Harry think. _I wouldn't have lugged that bag of food around all day. It was bloody heavy. _

Hermione resisted the urge to admonish Harru for his language as she realised he had not spoken aloud.

Dumbledore smiled as he watched the retreating back of the elf out of sight, before placing the newspapers on the scrubbed surface of the wooden tables in front of them.

"I assume these articles reveal at least part of your motivations for returning, Sirius?" said Dumbledore as if he were commenting on the weather.

All eyes around the table dropped to the headlines. There were three; the first bore the headline _Mystery Illness of Bartemius Crouch_, the second, _Ministry Witch Still Missing - Minister for Magic Now Personally Involved. _The third, which appeared to be a local muggle newspaper as none of the pictures were in motion, was folded over in such a manner as to highlight a small story about a gardener, Frank Bryce, who had gone missing from a village called Little Hangleton. Logically, as Hermione was certain that this newspaper had not been in Sirius's cave, this newspaper must belong to Dumbledore.

"Things are certainly getting fishier, Albus," agreed Sirius. "But what's this about Harry and Hermione being married?"

Hermione's cheeks reddened. Sirius was a difficult person to read properly, his depths often hidden behind his jovial veneer, which, Hermione felt certain, was more of an act now than it had been in his former life.

Having spent more than a decade having the joy sucked out of him by the foulest creatures known to wizard kind, how could it not be, at least partially forced.

However, despite her difficulties in getting a true reading on Sirius's feelings, right now she got the distinct impression that Harry's godfather was less than thrilled at the thought of she and Harry being married. But whether that was because they were so young or for some other reason she could not say - he had seemed truly delighted that they were a couple less than ten minutes ago after all.

"All in good time," said Dumbledore smoothly. "The relationship between our young Gryffindors here is both complicated and vital to our understanding of recent, and perhaps even future events. I ask for your patience, Sirius."

Sirius nodded his head once in acquiescence, pushing away the tangled mop of hair that had fallen over his face in that motion.

"I also think it prudent that we find you a more suitable place to hide," added Dumbledore, his expression sincere.

"You'll get no arguments from me, Albus," replied Sirius. "Anywhere with a shower and three square meals a day would be a vast improvement on my current accommodations."

At that moment Dobby returned. Or at least Hermione assumed it was Dobby. Two large silver platers of food wobbled into sight, presumably carried by the elf, who was hidden from sight, such was the size of his burden. Hermione opened her mouth to say something regarding elvish welfare, but closed it almost as promptly as she realised this was perhaps not the most opportune moment to bring the subject up. Especially in light of the fact the Dumbledore had gone out of his way to avoid giving Dobby a direct order to bring them food.

"Thank you Dobby," said Dumbledore graciously as the elf set the platters of food in the centre of the table.

"You's is most welcome, Professor Dumbledore," replied Dobby who's back seemed to spasm as if he were resisting the urge to bow. "But begging your pardons, Master Harry, but Dobby must go. Dobby has found Winky drunk again," he added by way of explanation, severely testing Hermione's resolve not to mention S.P.E.W.

"It's okay Dobby," replied Harry kindly. "Go. Take care of Winky. We'll come and find you later."

Hermione presumed that Harry wanted to find the little elf to give him their gifts; a presumption that Harry confirmed via their link.

Dobby nodded his head eagerly and scurried out of sight once more as a silence fell across the table as those assembled reached out to fill their plates with items of food.

Anyone who didn't know better, Hermione realised, would have assumed that it was Ronald and not Sirius who was suffering from malnutrition judging by the huge mound of food her best friend was piling onto his plate. She unconsciously crinkled her nose at her friends display of manner - or lack thereof.

"_What?_" asked Ron through a mouthful of chicken, obviously reading Hermione's expression all too well. "I haven't had lunch!"

Hermione had to admit that she was famished too, having only been able to sample a few bites of the picnic Dobby had prepared for them, she eagerly placed a selection of items on her plate and for several minutes, only the sounds of knifes and forks on crockery filled the air.

Finally when they had all eaten their fill, Dumbledore stood. "Now that we are suitably fed and watered so as our minds can focus on something other than the growls of our stomachs, I suggest we begin," he announced as Ron set down his cutlery with a clatter.

When no one objected, Dumbledore sent all of the dirtied plates back in the direction that Dobby had brought them with a nonchalant flick of his wand.

Slipping his wand into his sleeve he reseated himslef and knitted his fingers together, settling his joined hands on the table before him. To Hermione he looked to be steeling himself for whatever he was about to say and, in the artificial light of the basement kitchen, Hermione noted he had lost some of his aura of authority. He looked almost as frail and weary as he had that night they had been taken to the infirmary.

"Whilst the unexplained illness of Bartemius Crouch and Bertha Jorkins disappearance - " began the headmaster without preamble indicating the _Daily Prophet's_ " - and that of a muggle by the name of Frank Bryce - " he gestured to the muggle paper " - all appear unconnected, I am convinced that they are linked in some manner. Furthermore, when coupled with the information I have garnered from my sources and the pain Harry suffered in his scar last summer - "

_How did he know that?_ wondered Harry idly to Hermione.

_Sirius probably told him_, she thought back. _I doubt you're the only person Sirius writes to._

" - leave me in no doubt," continued Dumbledore, unaware of their non-verbal conversation. "Lord Voldemort will soon succeed in his plans to return himself to corporeal form."

A hushed silence fell.

Hermione noted that the fear and worry she expected to experienced in response to such a blunt and frightening statement never came, making her wonder if she was once more drawing on Harry's strength in that regard.

She shot a look to her side to find Harry sitting ramrod straight. His gaze hard and his lips had thinned to the narrowest of lines. It was at that moment that she realised what this meeting was; it was a council of war.

Although, for the time being at least, Hermione could not fathom Dumbledore's reason for including an escaped convict and three teenagers in such a meeting.

Sirius was the first to speak. "Are you going to reform the order?" he asked.

"With immediate effect," said Dumbledore without hesitation.

"The order?" asked Ron curiously.

"The Order of the Phoenix," explained Sirius, tipping his chair back onto it's rear legs and scratching at his stubbly beard. "We were the resistance against Voldemort in the first war."

No one in the room could fail to notice Sirius's very deliberate reference to the _first_ war. His implication was clear; there was going to be a second war if they couldn't put a stop to it.

_If it hasn't started already,_ Hermione thought morosely.

"I would like you to set up headquarters for the order, Sirius," continued Dumbledore.

"Consider it done, Albus," replied Sirius looking thoughtful. "We could always use Grimwald Place," he continued, obviously thinking aloud. "No one has lived there since Mother died. It's well protected."

"Excellent," agreed Dumbledore. "I'll ask you to begin making arrangements as soon as our business here is completed. Perhaps you could even reside there yourself? We could connect you to the fireplace in my office so that you could remain close at hand as it were."

Sirius considered the suggestion for all of two seconds before agreeing. "I never thought I'd be pleased to be going back there," he murmured to no one in particular.

From the depths of the basement kitchen came the unmistakable sounds of dozens of pots and pans tumbling to the floor. Their metallic crashes echoing loudly around the cavernous space, the muffled high pitched squeaks of countless hidden house-elf's joining the cacophony of noise a few moments later. Some voices, although too far away to discern, clearly barking out orders, whilst others clearly abashed, acknowledged those commands.

As the din faded away, Hermione took advantage of the lull in the conversation. "If you don't mind me asking headmaster. What sources?" It was certainly not the case that she doubted the validity of Dumbledore's theory (most people would happily accept a theory from Albus Dumbledore over the facts of almost any other) but her curiosity refused to be contained.

Dumbledore chuckled, a little of his usual good humour visible in his eyes. "No Miss Granger, I do not mind. As you know first hand, I am not immune to making mistakes, and, as the coming months are no doubt going to ask much of each of us, it is only fitting that I should share with you everything I have learnt to see if you reach the same conclusions as I."

For the second time in a little over a week, Hermione found herself rendered mute by the headmasters words. In truth she was stunned at how open the headmaster was offering to be. As much as she had always admired and respected the august wizard, being bonded to Harry had given her a new perspective. She now knew that as well as being extremely powerful and uncommonly kind, the headmaster was also a rather cagey individual, on many occasions giving Harry, and therefore indirectly, her, the impression that he knew far more than he was willing to reveal. What had motivated Dumbledore's change of heart, she did not know, however she did note that his willingness to share did appear to be genuine.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore had extracted a small wooden box from the front pocket of his robes which he placed on the table. Extracting his wand with his other hand, he silently cast what Hermione recognised as the counter-charm to the_ Reducio charm_. A moment later the box had expanded to the size of a small crate.

Grasping the lid with his free hand, Dumbledore swung the top of the box open on it's hinges to reveal a shallow stone basin surrounded by small corked bottles containing a silvery substance.

"A pensieve?" asked Sirius.

"I felt it would prove more expedient," agreed Dumbledore.

"What's a pensieve?" Ron wanted to know.

"It's an object which allows you to view someone else's memory," quoted Hermione verbatim.

"That's correct Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, briefly sounding as if he were planning to award Hermione ten house points. "And I have a number of memories that I believe will prove illuminating," he concluded, uncorking one of the tiny glass bottles and pouring the contents held within into the pensieve.

Unknowingly, everyone gathered around the table lent forward slightly as Dumbledore gave the silvery substance a prod with the tip of his wand. As if attracted magnetically, a ghostly figure rose out of the basin, coalescing into the image which was unmistakably that of professor Snape. With his feet still firmly hidden in the pool of silver, the hook nosed Slytherin head-of-house began to slowly rotate on the spot. His left sleeve was rolled up and he appeared to pointing at something that looked like a tattoo on his forearm, although the image was too small and indistinct for Hermione to make out what it was.

_"It's coming back...Karkaroff's too...stronger and clearer than ever..."_ Snape's voice echoed around the room as if he were speaking to them from the bottom of the stone basin.

With another prod from his wand, the miniature Snape sank back into the basin.

"Confused?" asked Dumbledore. "I'd be astounded if you weren't." he took a steadying breath. "You see, both Igor and Severus were, at one time, Death Eaters."

The cacophony of noise that met the headmasters statement made the earlier clatter of pots and pans pale into insignificance.

Dumbledore held up both of his hands placatingly in an attempt to quell the tumultuous noise that had erupted around the table. Sirius was on his feet yelling something incoherent, his chair lying on its back on the floor where it had fallen when he had sprung to his feet in outrage. Ron's jaw was set square, his teeth grinding against one another, as he managed to spit out one sentence; "I knew it!"

Harry said nothing. His eyes had taken on a glazed look as if he were no longer seeing anyone in the room.

Hermione bit her lip as she attempted to assemble the incomplete jigsaw in her mind. They had long believed that Professor Snape was, at best, fascinated by the dark arts, and at worst a supporter of Voldemort himself - a suspicion that had refused to completely evaporate even after the potion masters actions in saving Harry's life in their first year. But now Dumbledore was telling them that they had been right all along; Severus Snape was a Death Eater. One of Voldemorts most trusted lieutenants.

"But you still trust him?" she said aloud, voicing the only conclusion she could come to as the initial hubbub died away.

Whilst it was true that Professor Snape was undoubtedly an excellent potion maker, he was clearly ill suited a position in education. His cruel taunting of Harry in their last lesson had proven that much - if further proof were needed. Logically then, Professor Dumbledore had to have another reason for keeping him around.

"Yes Miss Granger. I trust Severus implicitly," replied Dumbledore. "With my life if need be."

"Why?"

Harry had not shouted, but his voice, which had taken on a distant, monotone quality, rang out across the low ceilinged room. It was at that moment Hermione realised that she could no longer sense Harry's feelings. _He's shutting me out,_ she realised in frustration and worry in equal parts and she attempted to reach out with her mind to him but was met with a mind scape that the headmaster had once described as 'a blank sheet of obsidian'.

Dumbledore placed a hand on his forehead and ran it down the length of his lined face. "Forgive me, Harry. That, I cannot tell you," he said, his sapphire eyes looking deeply saddened by his admission. "Whilst I have agreed to be forthcoming with my own secrets with you all, I gave Severus my word I would never speak of his reasons for turning. You would have to ask him that yourself, although I can not promise you he would be forthcoming with that information. What I can tell you is that, in the days before Voldemorts apparent demise, whilst he was at the very height of his powers, Severus turned spy for the Order at great personal risk to himself. He has never given me reason to doubt his loyalty in the fifteen years since."

"You really trust him?" asked Ron, who was sitting with his head in his hands staring at his knees.

"As I have said, Mr Weasley. Implicitly."

"What was he showing you on his arm?"

Hermione was pleased to note that the deadened quality that Harry's voice had taken on a few moments previously had softened somewhat. That pleasure swelling in her chest as she 'felt' the tendrils of Harry's mind brushing against hers once more.

_Sorry, _he projected to her_. I didn't want you to feel that too. I nearly lost control again. _Hermione could almost hear the sheepish tone in his 'voice'.

_You don't have to protect me, Harry, _she thought back. _Just don't shut me out. Let me help you. I'll always be there for you._

Hermione felt Harry mentally nod and they returned their attention to the head of the table once more.

"The dark mark," said Dumbledore in answer to Harry's question. "A sort of magical tattoo Voldemort used to brand his supporters. Both Severus's and Igor's have apparently been growing clearer for months. Since last summer in fact, Harry. When your scar hurt after your dream."

"So you think the dream was real?" asked Harry in astonishment.

"Possibly," said Dumbledore resting his chin atop his steepled fingers. "Probably in fact."

"And that's how you know he's getting stronger again?" added Ron thoughtfully.

Dumbledore nodded his agreement. "Although the disappearances alone would have had me concerned, Mr Weasley," said Dumbledore. "The years of Lord Voldemort's first rise to power were marked by many unexplained disappearances."

"It certainly feels like before," agreed Sirius. "We know Bertha Jorkins vanished into thin air in a place Voldemort was last known to be, but I do not see the connection between that and the strange absences of Barty Crouch or the disappearance of that muggle gardener."

"My brother is Crouch's personal assistant," interjected Ron. "Percy says he's just suffering from overwork."

"That doesn't jibe with I know of Crouch," said Sirius, a trace of bitterness in his tone. "If he's ever taken a day off sick in his life I'll eat Buckbeak."

"Whilst your opinion of the man may have been somewhat clouded by your previous run-ins with Bartemuis, Sirius, I can not dispute your assertion," agreed Dumbledore.

"You knew Crouch?" asked Hermione.

Sirius's face darkened. Hermione forced herself not to flinch as his shadowed lifeless eyes settled on her. He looked quite as disturbed as the first time they had met him when they still believed him to be a murderer. "You could say that," Sirius replied quietly, the bitterness of his tone now evident to everyone in the room. "He was the one who sent me to Azkaban without a trial."

"_What_?" said Ron and Hermione together.

"Back then, Crouch was the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. He was, what you could call, a man of the times. He fought violence with violence; became almost as ruthless as many on the Dark side. I wasn't the only one handed to the tender embrace of the Dementors without a trial," continued Sirius with a chuckle that held not a trace of mirth. "He gave orders to aurors to kill and not capture; even went as far as authorizing the use of unforgivable against enemy combatants."

"He'd likely be Minister for Magic by now if his own son hadn't been caught with a group of Death Eaters."

Hermione was shocked. Not that she had given any consideration to the matter before, but now that she had, she pictured any son of Bartemius Crouch to be someone not at all dissimilar to Percy Weasley. She was about to say as much aloud when Dumbledore steered the conversation on a different track.

"All true, Sirius," he said. "However, I have as yet been unable to explain how Bartemius fits into all of this. Frank Bryce on the other hand has a more direct connection which convinces me that these disappearances are not mere coincidences. Mr Bryce lived in the village where Voldemorts own father was raised. In fact he still tended to the gardens of what the locals still referred to as the Riddle house to the date of his disappearance."

The room settled into silence once more, the only sounds coming from the unseen cooking area beyond where, judging by the wonderful aromas wafting through the air, the house-elves were already busy preparing diner for the thousand or so students that would crowd into the Great Hall that evening.

Harry, who had been sitting silently whilst the others were talking, his brow knit together in concentration, suddenly spoke. "Professor? Do you know why my scar hurts? Why I saw Voldemort in my dreams?"

Dumbledore regarded Harry intently for a moment. It was the same kind of look Hermione remembered the headmaster giving her in the moments before he had attempted to read her mind last month.

"I do have a theory," he admitted. "But only that. We have spoken before of my belief that your scar is no ordinary scar. I believe that you can sense when Voldemort is near, or feeling a particularly strong wave of hatred because you and he are connected by the curse that failed the night of Halloween nineteen-eighty-one."

_He's not telling us something_, Hermione thought, feeling Harry's agreement travel back across their link. But before either of them had a chance to voice that belief, Sirius spoke.

"You said that Harry and Hermione's marriage has something to do with all this?"

"True," agreed Dumbledore. "But first, perhaps it should fall to them to explain the nature of their relationship?" he added turning his blue eyes towards Harry and Hermione.

"We-we're bonded, Sirius," Harry stammered out.

"A soul bond? But that's - that's - " Words appeared to fail him and Sirius turned his gaze towards Dumbledore.

"Most uncommon," he finished, punctuating his point with a single inclination of his head. "But even that, perhaps, is not the most remarkable part of the story," explained Dumbledore, who promptly launched into the explanation of Hermione's dual cores and how their bond was formed between an older Hermione Granger and Harry Potter. A bond which had somehow re-established itself in the present day.

Sirius ran a hand through his tangled mop of hair as Dumbledore finished his revelations. "You're from the future?" he managed sounding completely dumbfounded as he regarded Hermione as if he was seeing her for the first time.

"Part of me I guess," she admitted. "I get flashes of memories sometimes."

"I've seen them too," added Harry. "Something to do with our bond I guess," he added with a shrug.

"And it is these memories that I hope we will be able to access," put in Dumbledore. "To offer us a glimpse into the future and thus potentially provide the Order with a huge advantage over Lord Voldemort's forces. You may recall I told you both I would require you both to undertake additional lessons?"

Both Harry and Hermione nodded.

"I have taken the liberty of excusing you from your divination classes for the remainder of the year, Harry," Dumbledore continued, subtly ignoring both the wide beaming grin that formed on Harry's features and the equally deep scowl that Ron now wore that evidently spoke of his disappointment that he too had not managed to forego several months stuck in the sweltering hot tower that Professor Trelawney taught in.

"And Miss Granger. Professor Vector tells me you have already completed the year four arithmancy course, so I have cleared it with her that you may also be excused."

Hermione's facial expression warred somewhere between excitement and disappointment. She was of course thrilled to be offered the opportunity to explore a new branch of magic; an area of study which could provide an invaluable weapon against Voldemort, but she could not hide her disappointment that she would not be able to continue her studies into what had quickly developed into one of her favourite subjects. She had been hoping to get a head start on her O.W.L studies.

"Do you really think we'll be able to remember anything useful?" asked Harry, pulling Hermione's attention back to the moment.

"We must at least try," replied Dumbledore. "Mrs Potter, née Granger, obviously had some reason to wish to send us her memories, and as Voldemort has demonstrated something of an obsession with you, Harry, I believe it is fair to expect that the memories transferred to Miss Granger here will feature Voldemort's future actions to some extent."

"He's never going to leave me alone is he?" said Harry sounding totally dejected. "I never asked for him to kill my parents and loose his power. Why couldn't he just leave me alone."

Hermione, who had been watching their exchange carefully noted that, at Harry's last words, Dumbledore had appeared to visibly deflate before her eyes. She regarded the headmaster in silence for a moment; gone was the aura of power and command the headmaster had exuded when they had commenced their meeting. In fact even the weariness he had projected as their conversation had progressed had been replaced with something else; something Hermione read as defeat in his slumped shoulders.

As if reading her thoughts (although Hermione knew that to be impossible) Dumbledore whispered to himself; "It is time."

Dumbledore regarded each one of them in turn, his gaze settling on Harry last. "I am ashamed to admit that I have concealed certain facts from each of you; a pattern of behaviour I have come to realise to be foolish and counter-productive to say the least. If you would permit me Harry, I would like to answer a question you asked me long ago. A question I now realise I should have answered then. There can be no justification for my actions, however I hope that you will be able to forgive the foolish mistakes of an old man in the light of the fact that my motivations were pure, albeit, as I now realise, misguided."

Harry nodded his agreement, but Hermione could sense his deep confusion.

"Very well," said Dumbledore with half hearted approximation of a smile. "I presume you will want everyone to hear what I have to tell you?"

"I believe we would all like to hear what you have to say sir," said Harry. "I don't want any secrets."

Now Dumbledore did manage a true smile. "And that, Harry, is why you are a far better man that I."

Dumbledore took a cleansing breath. "Do you remember asking me, as you lay in the hospital wing having confronted Voldemort for the second time in your short life, why Voldemort tried to kill you as a baby?"

Harry nodded once more, his confusion replaced by what Hermione read as something bordering on excitement. An emotion she could well understand. Harry had lived his entire life never knowing the truth: As a child he had been told that his parents were worthless layabouts who had been killed in a car crash when he was just a baby. Even when he had re-entered the magical world as an eleven year old he had known he had been told only part of the story. It was something Hermione had never needed a mind link with her best friend to know that that knowledge ate away at him a little every day.

But now it seemed, after fourteen long years of waiting, Harry was finally going to learn the truth.

"I ought to have told you then, but I convinced myself that eleven was far too young to burden you with the knowledge that I held. I should have recognised the danger signs then. I should have asked myself why I did not feel more disturbed that you had already asked me the question that I knew I would one day need to give a terrible answer to. But I did not."

The Headmaster let out a long, slightly theatrical, sigh, before drawing breath and continuing; "And so we entered your second year at Hogwarts, and once more you met challenges that most grown wizards could not have risen to; once again you acquitted yourself yourself beyond even my wildest dreams. You did not ask me again why Voldemort had left that mark on you although we did skirt around the subject, but once more I chose not to tell you everything. Why?"

Dumbledore paused. His explanations did seem to be proving cathartic to him, some of his old aura visible once more in his sparkling blue eyes. Eyes he once more locked with every person seated around the table, his gaze finally coming to rest on Hermione.

"Because you cared about Harry. Perhaps a little too much?" she said, realising the headmaster had silently encouraged her to answer. "You didn't want to cause him any more pain."

As Hermione spoke the words she knew them to be the truth. Dumbledore had obviously taken a very special interest in Harry and cared for him deeply. Perhaps even loved him.

"Precisely Miss Granger. What did I care if countless of nameless and faceless individuals were slaughtered in some vague future, if in the here and now you were alive, well and happy?

But as we entered your third year my conscience grew uneasy as you proved time and time again that you were exceptional. Young though you were; though you still _are_, my excuses were running out. I knew I must tell you soon."

Dumbledore paused apparently lost in thought.

"So what's changed?" Sirius prompted. "Why tell Harry now?"

Dumbledore tipped his chin in Sirius's direction. "In truth I had no intention of telling Harry the truth any time in the near future," he admitted. "But when Harry and Miss Granger became romantically involved I realised that the time had come."

Obviously important to his explanation, the headmaster was fumbling to open a different stoppered bottle of memories, but his hands were shaking so severely that he proved unable to complete the task. An instant later, Ron had lent over to gently remove the cork, leaving the bottle still clasped in Dumbledore's trembling hand.

He tipped the contents into the basin and once more gave the liquid a faltering prod with his wand tip.

A second ethereal figure rose out of the memory, draped in shawls, her eyes cartoonishly magnified behind her thick glasses. Sybil Trelawney, like Severus Snape before her, began to revolve on the spot, but when she spoke, it was not in her wispy, mystic voice; but a harsh, rough tone that most definitely did not match her slight frame.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches ... Born to those who have trice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the dark lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have a power the dark lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of another for neither can live whilst the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord will be born as the seventh month dies ... "_

The silence in the kitchen was absolute. No one crowded around the table made a sound, not even to drawn breath; and even the distant clattering of the house elves moving pots and pans around had faded to nothing. Even, Hermione noted, her link to Harry was near silent, although not deliberately like before. On that occasion Harry's mind had appeared to her as a solid impenetrable wall, his emotions buried deep inside, but this time Harry was definitely not blocking her deliberately. It was more like nearly every thought, every feeling in his body had suddenly been drained away. Harry's usually active mind now projected only numbness and two very faint, warring emotions across their link; emotions she read as part anger and part pity direct towards the headmaster

Ron found her voice first. "It means Harry?"

Dumbledore nodded apparently unable to reply, as a single tear traced it's way along the deep lines on his ancient face.

"And it's got to be Harry that ends it?" prompted Sirius. "Neither can live whilst the other survives?"

Again Dumbledore merely nodded, his usually twinkling blue eyes now appeared haunted.

"And what about this power he knows not business?" added Ron. "No offence mate, but your not even top of our year."

Hermione could sense that Harry was on the verge of reply with his agreement to Ron's statement when Dumbledore refound his voice.

"Love."

The headmaster had forced the word past his lips in the merest of whispers, but somehow it carried to every pair of ears around the table.

"A force that is more powerful than any in our world," he continued, his voice stronger and more assured. "A power Harry possesses Voldemort knows nothing of. A power which, despite his difficult upbringing, Harry gives freely: To his friends; to his family; and to his wife," Dumbledore punctuated each statement by looking at Ronald, Sirius and Hermione in turn. "It is a power that has linked him with his bond mate in ways I have yet to fully understand, but I do know this; love will be Voldemort's undoing."

Hermione felt a wetness on her cheek and she realised she was crying. Suddenly it all made sense. The formerly incomplete puzzle in her mind slotting together effortlessly in a cascade; each new revelation shedding light on events that had so far been shrouded in darkness.

It wasn't Harry's parent's that had been targeted that night. It was Harry. Voldemort, having learnt of the prophecy, had decided to kill Harry before he could ever become a threat to him.

But he had failed in that endeavour. Thwarted by the selfless act of love of his mother who had died trying to protect him.

The very protection which destroyed the Dark Lord also leaving Harry scared and forever linked to his nemesis.

It also explained why the headmaster had chosen this moment to reveal the truth. If 'the power he knows not' truly was love, then the love that she and Harry shared; a love that had already made them both more powerful than they had any right to be as teenagers, was the very tool that would allow them to end the second war before it could ever start.

Dumbledore pushed up to a standing position, his chair legs scraping loudly on the stone floor. His tired eyes sought out Harry's and seemed to take a measure of comfort from the fact that Harry did meet his gaze. "If you can find it in your heart to forgive a foolish old man, Harry, I promise I will personally aid you in whatever way I am able."

"I will of course understand if that proves impossible for you, but I will ensure that the full power of the Order is available to you in either event. Know only this; you do not have to face Voldemort alone. You are stronger with the support of those closest to you than alone."

The headmaster appeared to be on the verge of saying something more, but apparently thought better of it. Instead he quickly bade the group farewell, turned on his heel and walked slowly towards the stairs to exit the kitchen, leaving those who remained alone with their thoughts.

_A/N Welcome back everyone. Hope you enjoyed Chapter ten. Personally I felt it went on to the page a lot easier than the previous few; hopefully that is reflected in it's quality. Fingers crossed. _

_My only tiny concerns are its length – easily the longest chapter so far, and the last lines - the chapter just seemed to end rather abruptly. _

_Aside from the change of location this chapter obviously covers a lot of the information from the Chapter 'Padfoot Returns' in GoF, but as I wanted this to be the last explanation chapter, and also the last time we followed canon (except for major events like the third task etc) I've included snippets from 'The Pensieve' from GoF and chapter 37 from OotP to get all the revelations of importance out in the open in one hit. _

_As so much of the material for this chapter comes from canon this seems to be an appropriate place to give a nod to JKR, who's brilliance I can not hope to come even vaguely close to._

_Also one of my reviewers commented that the lag between updates made it hard to remember the details of past events in the story, so I'll add a little chapter by chapter recap at the bottom of each newly posted chapters from here on out._


	11. Chapter 11 Solace

_A/N - For those of you reading multiple fics, there is a recap of the story so far bellow my author musings (sounds much better than author notes, right?) at the bottom of this chapter to help you remember exactly what has occurred so far._

**Chapter Eleven - Solace**

Hermione didn't have even the slightest idea where to begin looking for Harry. Their impromptu council of war had broken up mere moments after the headmasters abrupt departure, as Harry had declared, in a hollow, deadened sort of voice, that he 'needed some air'. He had bolted from his chair almost before the words had left his lips - his heavy footfalls receding quickly up the stairs and out of sight.

Hermione had of course hurried after him almost immediately; but, either because of his slight head start, or by virtue of his much longer strides, by the time she breathlessly skidded to a halt at the top of the kitchen staircase, there was no sign of him.

She had gone directly to all of Harry's favourite haunts; places she knew he went when he wanted to find solace, but had found him at none of them. Even their bond didn't allow her to pinpoint Harry's location with any degree of accuracy. Yes, she could still sense his presence, which, she assumed, meant he was still relatively close by. But the numb feeling of emptiness that his mind currently projected prevented her from being able to garner any further clues to where he was.

Her only comfort came in the guise of the unlikelihood of a second runaway of Harry's magical energies. So empty and despondent did his core appear to her right now, she doubted he could levitate a tea bag, much less blow up the school.

For close to an hour then, her feet had carried her aimlessly around the all but deserted corridors of the castle. Only occasionally running into other students who were invariably second years or younger - the rest of the student population evidently still out in the castle grounds or at Hogsmeade enjoying the unseasonably warm early spring sunshine.

In an attempt to distract her mind from worrying over Harry, she put it to work on the task of reviewing the revelations of the past few hours. Most importantly the wording of the prophecy the group had heard spoken by Professor Trelawney in Dumbledore's pensieve.

Being the highly logical being that she was, Hermione had long since decided that divination was a distinctly woolly branch of magic, owing more to a ethereal demeanour and educated guess work than any degree of skill. But even she could not deny, that compared to the more usual premonitions that the professor would regularly dispense in her class, this one was very different.

Coupled with the fact that the last time the professor had spoken in such an unnaturally harsh tone, giving, what Harry had adjudged to be, a real premonition, she had proven to be worryingly accurate.

Her eidetic memory recalled the words Harry had recited to her:

_"It will happen tonight. The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight... the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was. Tonight... before midnight...the servant...will set out...to rejoin...his master..."_

These were not the vague omens of doom that the professor usually spouted about individuals in her class, but rather, clear, concise facts given prior to the event. All but one of which (to the best of her knowledge at any rate) had come to pass with unerring accuracy, and Dumbledore had seemed certain that it was only a matter of time before Voldemort succeeded in fulfilling every line of Trelawney's prediction and thus 'rise again'.

Only a fool therefore, would discount at the least the possibility, that the most recent prophecy they had heard, was somehow true.

With that in mind, and not knowing what she hoped to achieve, she began to dissect the words of the prophecy;

_"The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches ... "_

_Well that much is obvious, _she thought in frustration.

_"Born to those who have trice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... "_

Hope flared in Hermione's chest. She'd been too stunned before to notice, but this line could no doubt refer to several different people. In fact, if her recollections of the history of the war were accurate, Neville Longbottom could just as easily be the one the prophecy spoke of.

_"And the dark lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have a power the dark lord knows not ... "_

Her nascent hope was crushed as she mentally considered the next line. Only Harry had been, quite literally, marked by the Dark Lord's first attempt on his life. Regardless of who else the prophecy _could_ have related to, Voldemort, by his own actions, had effectively chosen Harry as the one who could vanquish him.

_"And either must die at the hand of another for neither can live whilst the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord will be born as the seventh month dies ... "_

So consumed with her thoughts, and almost mesmerised by the metronomic beat of her footsteps, Hermione didn't register, until she was squinting into the late afternoon sun, that her feet had subconsciously carried her outside.

Apparently the hour was later than she had realised. The unseasonable warmth of the day had been followed by a cool evening breeze, giving the air outside a crisp, cool feel once more as the sun dipped towards the mountains that ringed the castle on all sides. The pale blue sky overhead giving way to a brilliant orange haze just above the horizon.

The days last rays of light liberally splashed colour over the hanging clouds which partially obscured the fiery ball of the sun. Hues across the whole spectrum, from pale pinks and deep reds, all the way through to mauve and purples, represented in equal measure. The flawless surface of the lake mirroring the sky and the black shadow of the mountains perfectly, making it all but impossible to tell where the sky ended and the earth began.

It was in short; _beautiful_.

At that moment Hermione knew exactly where she would find Harry. Breaking into a run, she pelted down the sloping lawns towards the sparkling shore line. She crested a slight rise and instantly caught sight of a familiar head of raven hair. _Harry!_

Slowing her pace in an attempt to catch her breath, Hermione saw that Harry was gazing out across the still water, his back leant against the truck of an ancient tree which stood near the shore of the lake - a place she had always considered to be 'her spot'.

She briefly wondered what could have motivated Harry to come here of all places, but even as the question formed in her mind she realised she already knew the answer.

Harry had obviously needed somewhere he could retreat to; somewhere to be alone with his thoughts. He had no doubt, albeit perhaps unwittingly, plucked the image of this place from her subconscious, because she was certain that she had never told either of the boys about her place of solitude.

She had come her often during her first term at Hogwarts as she took her first faltering steps into the magical world - a period in her life where she had felt friendless and desperately lonely. Happily, it had been many years since she had felt like such an outsider, but the habit had been formed. Whenever she needed somewhere quiet to gather her thoughts, her feet would invariably lead her here. It was obviously that feeling that had, through their connection, subconsciously drawn Harry to this place, knowing that no one would think to look for him here.

Neither of them spoke, as Hermione drew level and lowered herself to the ground next to him. Wordlessly, she wrapped her left arm around his right and rested her cheek against his shoulder. An instant feeling of peace swept across her, and she knew, as she felt some of the tension leach out of Harry's body, that he felt much the same as she moulded herself to his side.

For several minutes they sat in companionable silence as they watched the blood red disk of the sun sink lower. Finally, when part of the great orb was partially obscured behind the inky black mountain face, Hermione reached out along the tendrils of their bond.

_Harry? _she thought, knowing her next words, if spoken aloud, could never have conveyed the depth of her concern for him that their bond permitted her to. _Are you okay? _

Harry exhaled loudly. "I don't know, Hermione," he admitted quietly. "I guess, on some level at least, I've always known that it would have to end this way. But hearing it first hand ... I just .. I just wish I had ... "_ a choice. _

Harry's voice had trailed away before he could finish his sentence, but, courtesy of their bond, Hermione heard him mentally complete his statement.

"Of course you have a choice, Harry," she said, choosing her words carefully as she understood the cause of Harry's distress. _He feels trapped by fate._

At that, the three century old words of John Locke floated across her mind:

" ... _suppose a man be carried, whilst fast asleep, into a Room, where is a Person he longs to see and speak with; and be there locked fast in, beyond his Power to get out: he awakes, and is glad to find himself in so desirable company, which he stays willingly in...is not this stay voluntary? I think, no body will deny it: and yet being locked fast in, 'tis evident he is not at liberty not to stay, he has not freedom to be gone_ ... "

It was the difference, she realised, between feeling in control of your life or feeling like a marionette; guided through events by some unseen hand working the strings. It was all a matter of perspective.

One could argue that her own life had been controlled by fate. There was certainly no history of magical blood in either of her parents families, so the gift of magic had not been passed to her genetically so to speak. Rather from some unseen higher power - fate - for want of a better explanation. However, her latent abilities had not forced her to become a witch; she had elected to come to Hogwarts of her own free will. It was doubtless, she supposed, that plenty of muggle-borns did not choose to claim their birth right and enter the magical community when they received their letters of invitation from Hogwarts. So whilst fate, or whatever you chose to name it, could certainly lay a path, it was completely up to the individual whether or not to follow it.

She worried at her bottom lip and lapsed back into silence as she pondered how to explain that to Harry.

"Harry?" she said at length. "If you had never heard that prophecy, how would you feel about the possibility of Voldemort returning to power?"

To Harry's credit, he did not answer straight away and she could tell he was considering his answer carefully. Eventually, he said simply; "I'd want to stop him. Get rid of him if I could. And I'd want to be the one to do it. He murdered my parents."

"So you would choose that path you are supposedly destined for anyway," she summarized.

"Supposedly destined?" retorted Harry sharply. "Didn't you hear Dumbledore?"

"Of course I did, Harry," Hermione fired back, just managing to reign in her inherited Granger temper enough for it not to be evident in her tone. "But it doesn't change anything. You just said it yourself; you'd still want him gone even if you had never heard what Professor Trelawney said."

"But it comes to the same thing," spluttered Harry. "I've got to try to kill him."

"Got to?" repeated Hermione. "No Harry, you don't _have_ to do anything. You are setting too much store in the prophecy."

"But - "

"But nothing Harry James Potter."

Hermione locked her brown eyes of Harry's and willed him to understand. "You could walk away if you wanted. Live your life in secret somewhere. Somewhere Voldemort could never find you. But you won't," she stated simply knowing that Harry would also feel the huge swell of pride she felt for him at that moment. "That's not the kind of man you are. That's not the man I love - "

Harry's emerald eyes held her gaze for a moment before dropping to the compact soil they sat on, but she pressed her advantage, knowing she was tantalisingly close to getting through to him.

"Evidently Voldemort _does_ put a great deal of stock in the prophecy, otherwise he wouldn't have hunted you down as a child and tried to kill you. But in so doing he has marked you as the one who is most dangerous to him; hand-picked you as the one who would finish him off and handed you the tools to do it.

Hermione punctuated her point by raising a trembling hand to Harry's forehead. Pushing his jet black fringe aside, she traced his lightening bolt scar with her index and middle fingers. It was only as she pulled her hand back that she realised, in all the years she had known Harry, she had never before known him to permit anyone to touch the place where Voldemort's curse had struck him.

A flicker of a smile passed over Harry's features as he mimicked her actions and touched a hand to his scar. "Thank you, Hermione," he said, cupping her under the chin with his free hand.

"For what?"

Harry's eyes smiled knowingly at her and he lent down to press a soft, lingering kiss against her lips.

Hermione's eyes fluttered open as they broke apart, her gaze coming to rest on Harry piercing emerald eyes which seemed to emanate with a new strength.

"Come on," he said, scrambling to his feet and holding out his hand to help her rise. "I've got to speak with Dumbledore."

Hermione offered him her most radiant smile and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet, where she self consciously swatted the dust from her backside and knees. The last thing they needed was sordid rumours of their sunset trysts down by the lake to start making the rounds of the schools grape vine.

A silent agreement passed between them and they stood for a moment longer as the last slither of sun disappeared behind the jagged horizon, like seeing the edge of the earth burning with the last light of the day, before arm in arm, they turned and made their way back to the castle.

oOo

Five minutes later, as the stars began to dapple the twilight sky visible outside the castles many windows, the couple turned a corner on the second floor and literally ran straight into the slight frame of Luna Lovegood, who appeared totally engrossed by the cobwebs that adorned the rafters overhead.

Luna stumbled backwards, but was saved from an embarrassing fall on her backside by Harry's lightening fast seeker reflexes as he grabbed her firmly by the shoulders.

"Oh, hello Harry," she said in her dreamy voice, apparently recognising her saviour in the dim light.

"Hi Luna," replied Harry as he studied the Ravenclaw quizzically.

Luna was sporting what appeared to be a pair of very bulky muggle night vision goggles which she pushed up onto her forehead blinking her wide grey eyes at them as Harry released his hold on her upper arms.

"You know, Luna," said Hermione kindly. "There's a charm I can teach you if you want to be able to see in the dark."

A puzzled frown creased Luna forehead, before a spark of understanding lit her eyes and she pulled the contraption from her head, the rubber strap snagging in her straggly blonde hair and taking several strands with it, although she did not appear to notice. "These are Daddy's," she explained, turning the goggles over in her hands. "He owled them to me last month so that I could search for Kaftka's in the castle. They only come out this time of year around sunset to harvest the silk from cobwebs you know."

Hermione arched a eyebrow at the peculiar girl as a wide grin etched itself across Harry's face.

"Find any yet?" Harry asked innocently.

"No," admitted Luna, sounding not at all disheartened. "But then they are very shy."

Not wanting to waste anymore time conversing with the unusual girl, Hermione wrapped her arm around Harry's and made to steer him away whilst she offered Luna their apologies.

"By the way," Luna said, interrupting Hermione's escape plans. "Ronald was looking for you."

"Oh, thanks Luna," said Harry. "Where?"

Luna frowned as she recalled the details. "He was following a dog that looked just like Stubby Boardman to the library a few minutes ago."

"Stubby who?" asked Harry, oblivious to Hermione's continued attempts to guide him away.

"Stubby Boardman? He's really quite famous, Harry. I'm surprised you've not heard of - "

Giving the subtle approach up as a bad job, Hermione cleared her throat loudly. "Thank you again, Luna," she said, schooling her voice to disguise her irritation. "But we need to find our friend."

Luna's only response was to pull her goggles back into place over her eyes.

Harry and Hermione had reached the next turn in the corridor when Luna's voice floated back to them. "And, Harry," she was saying. "You look much better without all that weight on your shoulders."

Hermione could not hide the surprise from her face as they lost the young Ravenclaw to sight as they turned the corner - her eyebrow once more reaching for her hairline. _How did she know?_ she thought, wondering for the second time that week just how perceptive the unusual Miss Lovegood really was. She had certainly noted a fierce determination flare into existence in Harry's eyes down by the lake, but surely only someone as intimately familiar with Harry as she was could have discerned a difference.

She wasn't given much time to consider her internal question however, as a familiar voice, accompanied by two booming barks, rang out in the darkening corridor.

"Oi!" yelled Ron. "Where've you two been?"

Ron was jogging towards them, with Sirius at his heels, and although, out of context, his words would have spoken of irritation, his tone conveyed only deep concern for his best friends. They were coming, just as Luna had said, from the general direction of the library.

"Just down by the lake," replied Harry with a shrug as they drew closer. "Had to work through a few things, you know?"

"I guess," Ron agreed, clapping his hand onto his best friends shoulder. "Not everyday you find out you're gonna be the one to take down a Dark Lord."

Sirius signalled his agreement with Ron's sentiment by affectionately bumping his head into Harry's thigh.

"Thanks Snuffles," said Harry patting his godfathers side. "But we've got to get you out of here," he added, shooting a furtive glance up and down the corridor. "If you're caught..."

Harry let his voice trail away to nothing as a group of older chattering girls appeared at the far end of the corridor.

Wordlessly, Harry, Ron and Hermione moved into a rough semi-circle to hide Sirius from view as the girls hurried past. "See?" Harry hissed at his godfather as the last of the girls was lost to sight. "We've got to get you out of here."

"He should come with us to Dumbledore's office," suggested Hermione. "Perhaps he can floo you somewhere safe, Sirius?"

Sirius's animagus form gave a very human approximation of a nod of agreement and a few minutes later the quartet arrived at the foot of the spiral staircase which led to Dumbledore's office.

On this occasion however, the stone gargoyle was not standing sentry. Instead it was already standing to one side, leaving the doorway to the headmasters office unguarded.

"D'you reckon we can go straight up?" asked Ron to no one in particular, and was obviously slightly startled when he received a reply from none other than the gargoyle itself.

"Go ahead," it said in a deep gravely voice.

Less than a minute later they were deposited at the top of the stairs facing the equally open wooden door that marked the entrance to the headmasters private quarters, which was almost completely shrouded in shadows - none of the many lamps of candles that adorned the space having been lit.

Shuffling through the doorway in single file behind Harry, Hermione squinted in an attempt to force her eyes to adjust to the limited illumination on offer; an attempt that proved at least as unsuccessful as Ron's had obviously been as he collided with her ankles painfully, forcing a yelp of pain past her lips as Harry brought the line to a halt.

"I must confess," came the unruffled voice of Albus Dumbledore from somewhere in the darkness. "That I did not expect to see you again so soon, Harry."

Turning to face the direction the voice had originated from, Hermione could just make out the outline of the headmasters frame silhouetted by one of the many windows that looked out over the grounds. She surmised that he, much as she and Harry had done, had watched the sun set over the mountains and had simply not moved from that spot despite the encroaching darkness.

"Professor Dumbledore?" asked Harry. "Could we turn on a light?"

By way of an answer, the headmaster waved a hand towards several oil lamps, which spluttered into life, bathing the office in a flickering orange glow.

"It is unwise for you to linger here, Sirius," said Dumbledore.

No one commented on how the headmaster had known, without turning around, who had entered his chambers.

"It is not uncommon for me to receive visits from Ministry officials at all hours of the day and night," finished the headmaster.

"Well, I am travelling light, Albus," joked Sirius, pulling at his tattered robes having transformed from his animagus form. "When do I leave?"

"I have taken the liberty of connecting my floo to Grimmauld Place," replied Dumbledore. "Assuming you can handle protective wards your family would have no doubt set up, you are free to depart immediately."

Sirius obviously believed that would be the case as he nodded his head once before he switched his attention from the headmaster to Hermione and Harry. "You kids gonna be alright?"

"Yeah," said Harry, speaking first. "You need to get to safety and we need to speak with the headmaster."

"Ok kiddo, but remember, I'm only a floo call away now," replied Sirius affably as he stepped towards the hearth. "We'll talk as soon as I've got headquarters up and running."

Sirius grabbed a handful of powder as he ducked under the stone mantle of the headmasters fireplace. "Oh, and someone's gonna need to fetch Buckbeak for me," he added a moment before he loudly spoke the address of his childhood home and disappeared from view in a flare of green fire.

As the roaring fire subsided and returned to its normal hue, Dumbledore spoke again, although his voice was still oddly free of inflection. "Please take a seat Harry, Miss Granger."

Obviously realising that he had effectively been dismissed, Ron cleared his throat. "I'll just - I'll just be ... er ... going then," he said uncertainly, taking a half step towards the still open door, perhaps hoping that his omission had been an oversight on the headmasters part.

"Thank you Mr Weasley, that would be for the best," said Dumbledore, effectively crushing that hope. "However, could I ask you to make your way back to your dormitory via the kitchens? I believe Dobby would be only too pleased to help reunite Buckbeak with his master in London."

"Er ... yeah. Sure," replied Ron, locking eyes with Harry in a manner that obviously sought his permission to leave. Permission Harry extended to his best friend with the subtlest of nods.

It was only once Ron had disappeared from sight down the spiral staircase that Hermione understood the significance of their silent conversation. Although Harry had always been something of an unofficial leader for their little group; it had always been wordlessly acknowledged that Harry's authority in that regard was always trumped by Professor Dumbledore's. However, tonight, and for the first time she could recall, Ron had looked first to Harry and not Dumbledore for his orders.

It was an evolution in their roles that Dumbledore had also obviously recognised for what it was. For instead of taking up his regular dominant position across the table from them as he had in their earlier meetings, instead, the headmaster conjured another simple wing back chair on the visitors side of his desk for himself. Making his way, with a slightly shuffling gait, towards the chairs, Dumbledore gestured for Harry and Hermione to also take their places; a silent acknowledgement of their new positions of equality in the hierarchy of the leadership of the light.

"I am at your disposal, Harry," said Dumbledore as he sank into the cushioned chair, putting words to his already clear gesture of capitulation.

Hermione regarded the headmaster in the flickering light of the few lamps Dumbledore had deigned to light. He looked older than ever, and, in the orange glow of the lamps, she could clearly see the tell-tale residuals left by salty tear tracks on his wrinkled skin. The events of the day had clearly put a great strain on the wizened headmaster.

"I want you to know sir," said Harry without preamble. "I don't begrudge what you've done. I've had time to think about it and I can't honestly say that, if put in the same situation, I wouldn't have done something similar myself. I've also come to realise," Harry continued, entwining his fingers around Hermione's. "That it doesn't change anything. I'd have still wanted to bring down Voldemort even if I had never heard that prophecy."

The almost ever present twinkle that had been absent for much of their conversations that day fired back into life in Dumbledore's blue eyes. "Thank you, Harry," he replied simply.

"But no more secrets," Harry added. "If I'm - if _we're_ going to do this, I need to know everything."

"You have my word," replied the headmaster. "Although I must admit that a great deal of my own knowledge from this point onwards is merely supposition and speculation."

Harry nodded his understanding and lapsed back into silence.

"Please, do not take this in the wrong way, Harry," said Dumbledore after a time, evidently taking great care with his choice of words. "But I must confess I expected you to take this news far worse."

"Honestly, sir," replied Harry sheepishly. "I was."

"But - " prompted Dumbledore, obviously sensing Harry had more to add.

"But Hermione managed to talk some sense into me."

"Ah yes," chortled Dumbledore, his gaze coming to rest fondly on Hermione. "Behind every good man is always a great woman."

"The greatest," agreed Harry wholeheartedly, lifting Hermione's hand to his lips causing Hermione to blush furiously.

"Now," said Dumbledore, his aura of power rapidly returning. "What was it that you wished to talked to me about? I dare say your forgiveness of a foolish old man, whilst gratefully received, could have waited until morning."

"I wanted to get started on those lesson you mentioned," replied Harry. "If what you say is true and Hermione really does know something about the future we can use ... well shouldn't we get started straight away?"

Dumbledore's lips twitched into a wry grin. "I must say, Harry, if you were to commit this much energy and vigour into the rest of your studies you might well rival Miss Granger here."

"I doubt it," said Harry with a shrug. "Hermione's brilliant!"

Hermione could feel the burning on his cheeks intensify and was immensely grateful when Dumbledore steered the conversation away from any topic that might make her feel yet more self conscious. "When would you like to begin?" he asked.

"Now?" inquired both Harry and Hermione in unison turning Dumbledore's wry smile into a beaming grin.

"That could prove problematical," replied Dumbledore, straightening in his chair and folding his hands in his lap, his blue eyes twinkling with mischief. "I doubt your instructor would be available at such a late hour."

Hermione frowned. "Our instructor? Won't you be teaching us professor?" she asked, realising just how much she had been looking forward to one on one tutoring with the greatest wizard alive.

Another chuckle escaped Dumbledore's throat. "No, no, Miss Granger. As I have already proven, my particular talents are ill suited to the task. Both of your minds are closed books to me thanks to the properties of your bond. What we require is someone who can provide...a new perspective on the issue."

When, after a few moments it became clear that Dumbledore did not intend to expand upon his statement, Hermione prompted; "Who? Is it someone we know?"

She had added the second question as she felt Harry mentally tense as an image of being tutored by Professor Snape flashed across his mind.

The headmaster didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached into an inside pocket of his robes and extracted a small item. "Yes, I believe you both know her," Dumbledore answered examining the still hidden item in his palm as Hermione felt Harry both physically and mentally relax knowing their instructor was female, ensuring, that unless Professor Snape really had taken to wearing Neville's grandmothers clothes, they would not be forced to endure additional lessons with him. "I have arranged for your instruction in this matter to be handled by Miss Lovegood," he finished with a wide smile as he turned over his palm to reveal one of Luna's home made insect hair clips.

_**Authors Musings **__- Sorry for the delay guys and gals. I had hoped to keep to my self imposed once a week update schedule, but I had something of a mental block with the end of this chapter which stalled the speedy progress I had been making up to that point. Now I've managed to pull it together, I'm quite pleased with how the first three quarters of this chapter turned out, with only Harry and Hermione's private chat with the headmaster leaving me slightly dissatisfied. My thanks to Romantic Silence who's typical good humour helped me hog tie my muse until she co-operated._

_As for the chapter itself, I guess there are a few things I should pick up on:_

_1) No doubt some readers won't like how quickly my Harry has forgiven Dumbledore - but there are a couple of good reasons: In canon, Harry forgave Dumbledore between the end of OotP and HBP (a matter of weeks) despite his aloofness towards Harry all year previously and Sirius's recent death. As Harry is more than a year younger and still quite naive in this tale it stood to reason (at least to me) that Harry would be able to return to his grandfatherly view of Dumbledore even faster here as he is not at his lowest ebb as he was in OotP. I hope, that for those of you who do not trust and perhaps openly dislike Dumbledore, that this doesn't ruin the story for you._

_2) In canon, Dumbledore was the one to sit Harry down and explain he was not bound to the prophecy in HBP, but it seemed more appropriate to have Hermione (being just as logical as Dumbledore) to fulfil that role here. Plus it gave me my first chance to shoe horn my first 'Harry James Potter!' moment into the story. What else are middle names for other that in moments of anger?_

_3) Yay Luna (part 2). As promised, Luna's appearance a few chapters ago was not going be a one off, and as Dumbledore has revealed, she will appear frequently from now on. We leave canon behind for a while now as much of the next chapters are devoted to Luna, Harry and Hermione's attempts to unlock the memories of the future. _

_Oh, and by the way, in my mind a Kaftka is a kangaroo like creature the size of a gerbil. So now you know_. ;)


	12. Chapter 12 Dream a Little Dream

_A/N - For those of you reading multiple fics, there is a recap of the story so far bellow my author musings (sounds much better than author notes, right?) at the bottom of this chapter to help you remember exactly what has occurred so far._

_I do not own Harry Potter._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twelve - Dream a Little Dream<strong>

"Well that was a waste of time," said Harry as he dropped his school bag to the floor and flopped down onto their favourite couch in a quiet corner of the nearly deserted Gryffindor common room.

It was Wednesday morning and the couple had just returned from their first private lesson with Luna Lovegood. A lesson that Hermione had found surprisingly beneficial, despite Harry's disparaging remark.

Taking full advantage of the fact that almost everyone else was still in classes, Hermione too dropped her bag off her shoulder and arranged herself on the sofa so that she was laying on her side, with her head in Harry's lap. She did however, very deliberately, settle herself so that she was facing away from him, so that he would not notice that his last throw away comment had left her worrying at her bottom lip again.

Thus far she had managed to hide her anxiety from her bond mate, but, understanding that her concerns would surely leach through to Harry sooner or later anyway, she elected to voice something that had been troubling her, particularly at night, since Dumbledore had revealed Harry to be the chosen one.

The re-occurring and often fragmented dreams that were the source of her anxiety ensuring she hadn't had a single restful nights sleep in days. For although she couldn't recall their details during her waking hours, she knew, by the way she woke each night in a cold sweat with her heart hammering at her rib cage that their contents were disquieting. So much so that she had begun to dread the moments when sleep claimed her each night, even going so far as to place wards around her bed that prevented her dorm-mates from hearing her panicked awakenings.

"Actually Harry, I've been doing some thinking - "

"I'd be astounded if you weren't." Hermione could sense the wry grin on Harry's lip as he interrupted her.

Taking a steadying breath, Hermione opened her mouth to continue, but, instead of voicing her concerns aloud, her resolve faltered, as Harry, perhaps sensing her unease, began to soothingly run his fingers through her hair.

A soft sigh of contentment slips past her still parted lips as she surrendered to their moment of solitude and her eyes fluttered shut. Right now she was just too tired. There would be time to talk..._later_.

oOo

_Hermione was standing at the edge of a large clearing in a forest in the dead of night. With eyes wide, she strained to see more than a few meters on either side of her, however, the complete darkness of this part of the forest seemingly pressed in on her from all directions._

_Every direction but one._

_In the centre of the leaf strewn clearing stood, what appeared to be, a hastily constructed fire. It's flickering orange light illuminating both the many giant spiders webs that clung to almost every surface and a crowd of black robed figures; some hooded and masked. All of whom clustered in complete silence around a lone figure in a rough semi-circle._

_The man, who Hermione instinctively understood was the leader of this group, stood immobile near the fire with his spider-like fingers wrapped around the shaft of a wand, his head bowed, thus hiding his features from her. What little she could make out told her that he was tall, completely hairless and exuded an aura of incredible power. Although Hermione was certain that she did not know the identity of the almost almost ghostly pale person, instinct warned her that this was a _very_ dangerous individual._

_Movement to her right drew her eye line towards the inky black darkness that engulfed the forest beyond the crackling glow of the fire; a moment later two more hooded figures appearing from between the gnarled tree trunks. The flicker of recognition that passed across her as she caught sight of the men's faces quickly, and infuriatingly faded, as the duo edged around a shimmering sphere that hung at head height in mid-air that Hermione hadn't, until now, noted. However, now she registered what was contained within it, she wondered how she could have failed to notice it before. A giant snake, as thick a some of the tree trunks which surrounded her, twisted and coiled itself within, what she surmised, was some sort of cell. Although what purpose capturing such a beast could serve, eluded her at that moment._

_The taller of the two hooded individuals spoke to their leader in a hushed whisper, which, although Hermione could not discern the details of, spoke of the hooded man's reverence toward the bowed figure. _

_No not reverence, she realised suddenly as the man backed away with his gaze averted from his master: fear._

_An instant later Hermione understood why. Their leader lifted his head to reveal a terrifying face like nothing she had never laid eyes on before. His features were snake-like and his narrow eyes burnt red in a manner that had little to do with the fact that they were set of the crackling flames of the fire._

_'I thought he would come,' said the snake-man in a clear but cold voice. 'I expected him to come.'_

_Hermione felt an icy chill run done her spine, stemming, she realised in horror not from the frightening tone of the snake-man's voice, but from the fact that, unbidden, her legs were carrying her forwards: directly towards the snake-man and his followers._

_'I was, it seems...mistaken.'_

_Hermione's heart froze in her chest as a new voice boomed out across the clearing; 'You weren't.'_

_Instantly every eye in the hollow spun towards her as she realised in terror that the words had come from her, although it was very clearly not her voice that had spoken - it was Harry's._

_'Harry Potter,' said the man very softly, with a mirthless sneer on his lips. 'The boy who lived, come to die.'_

Voldemort_, a detached part of her mind reasoned. It could be no one else._

_Hermione wanted to reach for the wand she could feel in the pocket of her trousers, or to run as fast as her legs would carry her, not caring what vicious creatures she might stumble across in the darkness of the forest. Anything to get away, but, it seemed, she still had no control over her actions - Harry's actions - for she now realised that she was witnessing events that had already transpired. She could no more change them than she could change yesterdays weather._

_Voldemort regarded her - Harry - with a quizzical gaze; his snake-like head tilted over to one side like a curious child as if wondering how to proceed. However, there was nothing child-like about the malevolent glare of his scarlet pupils as Hermione read his intentions in those cruel eyes. Although Hermione knew intuitively exactly what was going to happen next she was powerless to do anything to defend herself, not even the futile gesture of shielding her face with her arms, as Voldemort raised his wand arm over his head, the shaft of his wand levelled directly towards her chest._

_'AVADA KEDAVRA!'_

_The world lurched around her as a brilliant flash of green light engulfed her. _

_When it had faded, she was no longer standing face to face with the red eyed monster. In fact, she no longer seemed to possess corporeal form at all, rather she appeared to be floating several meters above the floor of the forest._

_Directly beneath her, on a bed of decaying leaves, lay Harry's battered and bloodied body; his green eyes wide but unseeing._

oOo

'NOOOOOOO!'

Hermione's eyes snapped open. Awoken from a sleep she did not recall entering by a scream of sheer terror echoing around the room that she now recognised as having emanated directly from herself.

A scream brought about, she realised, by the same image that had been replaying over and over again in her minds eye every night ever since she had learnt of the prophecy. An image that was now indelibly burnt onto her retinas; Harry's death_. _

_Is this why my elder self sent her memories back to me? To stop Harry dying? _the logical and unaffected part of her wondered.

"Hermione!" Harry's panicked laced voice reached out to her and pulled her back to reality. His arms pulling her trembling body close to his, cradling her head on his chest, the reassuring rhythmic thumping of his still beating heart filling her ears as he did so. "Hermione? What's wrong?"

"B-bad dr-ream," she managed to choke out between the sobs that were shuddering through her body.

Harry planted a soft kiss on her hairline as he whispered calming reassurances to her. The words were unimportant and quite frankly eminently forgettable, but slowly, they had the desired effect.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Harry prompted several minutes later when her breathing had returned to something near to normal as he dabbed at the tears that clogged her eyelashes with a handkerchief that he had conjured from somewhere.

Hermione straightened up on Harry's lap, momentarily unsure as to how much she should reveal to her bond mate, but, as she locked her gaze with Harry's emerald orbs she understood that she could never hide the truth from him as Dumbledore had done for so long.

"I think," she began, electing to be direct and to the point. "I just saw the day you died, Harry," she concluded, unable to keep her voice from wavering.

The only outward sign that Harry had been disturbed by her blunt statement was the bobbing of his Adams apple before he nodded for her to continue obviously recognising she had more to say.

A thin, sad smile pulled at the corners of her lips as she brushed the back of her hand fingers the side of his cheek lovingly and she closed her eyes savouring the feeling of the warmth of his skin on hers.

"Ever since Dumbledore told us about the prophecy I've been having nightmares," she explained, deliberately leaving out the fact that she saw the scene from Harry's perspective. "You're in the forest with V - voldemort...the other Harry I mean - " she clarified, knowing her bond mate would understand she referred to a Harry from a time that had yet to come to pass. " - an - and you don't even try to fight back. You just stand there and...and let him kill you."

"It's always the same," she concluded in a hollow voice realising just how many times she had re-lived that same moment in the previous few nights.

"It's just a bad dream, Hermione," offered Harry as he stroked her hair comfortingly. "Just a dream."

_Dream_.

Hermione's subconscious grabbed hold of the word and forced it to the forefront of her mind. Pushing aside her despondency, her entire bearing altered abruptly as she straightened up and scooted off of Harry's lap, slipping onto the floor where she immediately began rummaging through her school bag. "I need my quill and some parchment," she informed Harry, feeling his questioning look boring into the back of her head.

"Surely Luna's homework can wait, Hermione?" he asked, obviously understanding Hermione's train of thought.

"No Harry. That's just it. It can't," she said, putting words to her earlier anxieties as she dipped her quill into the bottle of ink and began furiously scratching notes on a piece parchment as she crouched on the floor. "You really need to concentrate on your studies more. If you are going to take Voldemort down you are not going to be able to get by on your wits any more."

"But I'm the chosen one," joked Harry.

Hermione shot him an angry look, quickly wiping the light-hearted expression from his face. "I mean it Harry," she said, frustrated that her voice was once again becoming clogged with emotion. _"...And either must die at the hand of another for neither can live whilst the other survives_..." she quoted verbatim. "I won't have you dying on me..." _just because you were under prepared_, she added silently as her voice gave out, knowing that Harry would understand the words she had left unspoken.

Tears were streaming down her face once more causing her vision to blur and blotting her homework for Luna as several large tear droplets slipped off her cheeks and onto the freshly penned ink.

Instantly Harry slipped off the sofa and was at her side, pulling her into a second fierce embrace, his whispered assurances containing the promise, on more than one occasion, that he was _'not going to die'._

Hermione fisted her hand into Harry's robes as her tears quickly soaked into the material of his shirt. It just didn't seem fair, she thought miserably, that having finally stopped skirting around her true feelings towards Harry, that he could be torn away from her so soon after they had found one another. The Harry from her vision she realised despondently didn't look a great deal older than he did now.

When Hermione finally regained her equilibrium and pulled away from their embrace it was a very sombre looking Harry that her gaze fell upon; his eyes had an introspective quality she had rarely seen before and his brow was knitted together in contemplation.

"You're right you know," Harry conceded, startling Hermione with how thoughtful his voice sounded. "I've been lucky," he continued, "and I've almost always had help." A Mona Lisa smile graced her lips, as through their bond, Harry offered up mental images of their rescue of Buckbeak, their pursuit of Quirrell through the caverns bellow the school and the memory of something Hermione had only ever heard about before - Harry pulling the sword of Gryffindor from the sorting hat in the Chamber of Secrets. "If I'm going to do this, I'm going to do it properly. I'll speak to Dumbledore about scheduling some extra classes."

Chosen one or not, Hermione was overjoyed that Harry was taking his responsibility more seriously, and if the warm smile that spread across her features wasn't thanks enough, the passionate, yet slightly salty tasting kiss, she pressed against his lips certainly conveyed her wordless thanks loud and clear.

She had always known that Harry was intelligent, this after all, was a student who had learnt and mastered the incredibly advanced _Patronus Charm_ in only his third year. But he had also proven to be rather lacklustre in his studies, often doing little more than was minimally required of him to scrape by in class, especially in those classes he didn't enjoy or have a natural aptitude for.

In retrospect, she realised, she was perhaps at least partially guilty of fostering that attitude in Harry herself/ She had certainly never allowed him to outright cheat and directly copy her work, but she also knew that she had provided him with more assistance than he needed, perhaps encouraging his aloof attitude towards his schooling.

It was her way, she realised, of showing her affection towards him in a time long before either she or Harry had recognised their nascent romantic feelings for what they were themselves.

"I promise I'm going to knuckle down, Hermione. I'm not giving up what we've got," he said into the nape of her neck, perfectly summing up Hermione's own feelings. "But you have to agree," Harry continued once they had broken apart. "That today's lesson was a waste of time! I mean a dream diary? I should have stayed in Trelawney's class if I wanted to do that."

"Actually," she replied as Harry began to absent mindedly run his fingers through her hair again as she settled her back against his chest. "I think Luna might be on to something."

Harry abruptly stopped his fingers soothing motions. "But - but you said," he spluttered.

"I didn't say anything, Harry," she reminded him. "That was Ronald," she concluded, recalling Ron's colourful, and none-to-flattering opinion that he had voiced after she and Harry had filled him in four days ago regarding Dumbledore's latest teaching appointment;

_'The old codger's finally gone off his Rocker.'_

"Yeah," conceded Harry with a smirk as he too obviously recalled their conversation. "But I know you agreed with him."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but found she couldn't argue with Harry's assessment. Admittedly, whilst in the immediate aftermath of Professor Dumbledore's announcement, she had been too stunned to form an opinion of any kind, she had found that she was in complete agreement with her other best friend's very vocal criticisms of the headmaster that evening.

But, having had time to completely consider the headmasters appointment of Luna Lovegood as their personal tutor in the last few days, and, having just returned from their first private lesson together, she had to admit that she might have been too hasty in forming that opinion.

Certainly the appointment, like much of Dumbledore's behaviour did at first glance appear eccentric, but she had been convinced to at least try proceed with an open mind by two things:

Primarily Dumbledore's own insistence of the importance of retrieving the memories of a future they hoped would not come to pass. If, as was Dumbledore's self proclaimed belief, those memories were crucial for their hopes of defeating Lord Voldemort, surely he would entrust the task of their retrieval to no one other than the person he believed most suitable for the job.

It came down to one thing she realised: _Trust_. And as much as Hermione had come to recognise in recent weeks that Albus Dumbledore was far from perfect, she knew, that in her heart, she trusted the man implicitly.

Secondly, as she recalled the details of their first lesson with the often bizarre blonde, Hermione had to admit that the young Ravenclaw might well have stumbled on to something that was at least worthy of further investigation.

In response to Harry's previous statement, she said; "And I learnt a valuable lesson about not jumping to conclusions didn't I, Harry?"

"You really think Luna's dream diary idea is going to work?" asked Harry in disbelief.

"I do. I'm not sure I believe that Luna can talk to her dead mother in her dreams," said Hermione, recalling Luna's stated belief. "But a lot of what she was talking about shares a great number of similarities with a muggle technique I remember reading about in one of my parents science journals called Lucid Dreaming."

"Lucid Dreaming?" asked Harry as he pushed himself up from the floor and offered his hand to Hermione to pull her up too, his face wearing a broad smile she recognised as his satisfaction that she had slipped easily back into lecture mode pushing her distress aside.

"Mm hmm," replied Hermione as she dropped back onto the couch next to Harry. "Have you ever had a dream that you knew was a dream even whilst you are still asleep?"

Harry's eyes shifted to some unseen point as he considered Hermione's question. "Yeah, I guess," he replied, an image of a flying motorbike drifting across their bond to her.

"Well that's a lucid dream," said Hermione brightly. "Or a dream-induced lucid dream to be more exact. It's a dream you can direct and control with your conscious mind."

"And because we've only seen flashes of the future when we are asleep or unconcious, we need to control our dreams to learn more," said Harry, realisation dawning.

"Exactly," agreed Hermione. "But what Luna outlined sounds a lot more like wake-induced lucid dreaming. In wake induced dreams the subject moves directly from consciousness to full REM sleep without loosing self-awareness."

"Is that even possible?" asked Harry.

"Possible, yes," said Hermione. "But not easy. Muggle practitioners believe that one of the first steps towards entering a true lucid dream state directly from consciousness is to be able to recall at least one dream per-night clearly before attempting any form of induction."

"Hence the dream diary?"

"Precisely."

Harry lapsed into silence for a moment, his facial expression making it obvious that he was mulling over what he had heard; a contemplation Hermione did not wish to interrupt.

"Well then," he said at length. "Better let me help you with this," he said, summoning the blotchy dream diary Hermione had started recording. He dipped the quill into the ink and hovered the tip a few inches from the surface of the parchment. "Tell me everything you can remember about the dream."

oOo

The Gryffindor couple worked with their heads bowed together over the parchment for close to an hour, only looking up when the the portrait hole swung open several times in quick succession indicating that morning classes had concluded as dozens of their fellow Gryffindor's filed into the common room to drop off bags or school work before just as quickly heading out the way they had come in to make their was down to the great hall for lunch. A place both Harry and Hermione knew they would surely find their other best friend.

They were just about finished packing away their work to follow their house mates down to the hall themselves when the fire at the centre of the common room briefly flared green.

"Did you see that?" questioned Harry who would not have noticed the abnormality unless he had been staring at that exact spot.

"What?" replied Hermione who was wrestling a particularly large tome back into her bag.

"The fire," he said, nodding his head in that direction.

Hermione followed his gaze towards the hearth just in time to see a second short spurt of green fire, followed immediately by a small, slightly singed piece of parchment, which was spat out of the flames where it fluttered to the floor.

Harry shouldered his bag and marched to the fireplace where he bent to collect what was now recognisable as a note.

"It's from Sirius," he said after shooting a furtive glance around the room to ensure that they were once again alone.

Hermione trotted over to his side as he unfolded the note.

_Dear Pups,_

Pups? Mouthed Hermione eliciting a shrug of confusion from Harry before he bent once more to the task of reading his godfathers letter.

_The bachelor pad, or headquarters as Dumbledore continues to insists on calling it, is almost finished, thanks, in no small part I should add, to your little friend Dobby. It has been a pleasure to have companion around the place who doesn't see me as a blood traitor._

_But I digress. As it is going to become rather chaotic here shortly I have asked and gained permission from Dumbledore for you to visit number twelve tonight. Nothing fancy, just a little dinner for my favourite godson and his wife. The headmaster will expected you in his study at six o'clock this evening._

_Sirius_

_ps Your friend Ron is most welcome too._

When Harry's eyes stopped roving from left to right indicating he had finished reading the letter a wide smile bloomed on his face.

"Brilliant," he said simply.

"Yeah," agreed Hermione, but noted with surprise that her enthusiasm sounded false to her own ears.

"Come on," said Harry hurriedly as he clasped her hand and pulled her towards the portrait hole. "Lets go and tell Ron."

Without opportunity to object, Hermione allowed herself to be all but dragged out of the common room and along the corridor half a step behind advantage of Harry's silence she began to dissect her feelings of unease about the dinner with Sirius; unease which she now realised stemmed from Harry's godfathers somewhat cool reaction to her when he had discovered of their marriage.

If nothing else then, their meal together would give her the opportunity to get to the bottom of that reaction.

With that though at the forefront of her mind, Hermione lengthened her stride to match Harry's and headed hand in hand towards the lunch hall.

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><p><em><strong>AM -**__ Hello guys. Can I first say a huge thank you for your patience during the delay in getting this chapter up. Hopefully I will be able to get back to my once every 7-10 day schedule of updating._

_This chapter has been quite strange to write. I've been eager to get to this point in the story for ages and yet, now I'm here with a golden opportunity to write Luna and chapter goes and takes itself in a different direction with Harry and Hermione retrospectively looking back at the lesson that is only alluded to. _

_I can promise you all that we will join them in a Luna lesson shortly, but I felt it would have become quite boring to have two chapters in quick succession taking place in the classroom, and trust me, the next lesson is far more important so it needs to be that one that we see in person._

_As to Hermione's vision, I do admit to being a very cruel writer to her. I've given her a glimpse of the future that she can recall but I've ensured she has completely the wrong end of the stick as to what happens to Harry._

_Review on the way out if you like. (This chapter has not had a beta to look it over so please feel free to point out any errors)_

_Wings._


	13. Chapter 13 Asunder

_A/N - For those of you reading multiple fics, there is a recap of the story so far bellow my author musings (sounds much better than author notes, right?) at the bottom of this chapter to help you remember exactly what has occurred so far_

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><p><em>I do not own Harry Potter.<em>

**Chapter Thirteen - Asunder**

"So you actually...you know..._die_?" asked Ron as the three friends made their way towards Dumbledore's office after classes that evening.

"Yes Ronald," Hermione replied curtly. "Harry _died._"

She placed particular emphasis on the fact that her choice of word had been of the past tense (exactly the way she intended to keep it) as she strove to hide the wobble in her voice; a physical response she experienced every time she closed her eyes and was forced to re-live the image of Harry's bloodied and lifeless corpse from her nightmare.

It had taken Harry and Hermione all afternoon to recount everything to Ron, constrained, as they were, by their attempts to hold those discussions in the classrooms of the two teachers who would least stand for such inattentiveness: Professors Moody and Snape.

True to his word, Dumbledore had obviously confronted Professor Snape with regards to his open hostility in class towards anyone not of his own house, as the Slytherin head of house, though clearly in the foulest of moods, did not say more than two words to any of their fellow Gryffindors during the entire lesson.

Instead, he had taken to hovering behind their shoulders like some sort of over grown bat as they worked silently on their Befuddlement Draughts; a particularly tricky little potion Hermione knew to be at least a year ahead of the syllabus they were supposed to be working on. It was, she assumed, some sort of punishment doled out by the professor for daring to question his authority.

Never-the-less, despite the difficulty of the subject matter, she was proud to note (and admittedly mildly surprised) at how well both Ron and especially Harry had done without Snape's constant torrent of abuse to contend with.

Both of their drafts had taken on a hue of pale lavender perhaps only a shade or two away from the perfectly coloured potion that stood in her cauldron.

Whilst she couldn't deny that the professors new found indifference to them certainly provided a far better environment for learning, the downside was that the dungeon had also proved eerily quite all lesson, thus ensuring, that even the hushed, barely audible speech they had perfected over nearly four years of lessons with the former death eater would have been overheard.

Professor Moody's classroom, whilst less foreboding that Snapes darkened dungeon, proved, if anything, even less inductive for conversing; gifted, as the ex-auror was, with the ability to see through the back of his own head, and assisted by uncommonly sharp hearing for a man of his age.

Resultantly, it was only in the last hour, after the days classes had concluded that Harry and Hermione had been able to bring Ron completely up to speed with the days events in the deserted Gryffindor common room - the rest of their housemates presumably congregating in the great hall for dinner.

It was during the course of that conversation that Hermione had inwardly concluded that preventing Harry's death was exactly what her elder self had been attempting to achieve by sending her memories back through time. A task she silently vowed to prove equal to.

At a quarter to six, Harry, Hermione and Ron had set off though the portrait hole, their arms laden with the gifts they had purchased for Dobby the previous weekend in Hogsmeade. But since the little elf had been otherwise occupied since then they had been unable to show him their appreciation and deliver them personally.

"There you three are," came the unmistakable Scottish brogue of Professor McGonagall as they rounded the last corner on the walk to the headmasters office. The transfiguration mistress was standing alone next to the open entrance of the spiral staircase studying the hands of a pocket watch she was holding up to the light of one of the many lanterns. "You are expect at Grimmwauld Place in five minutes...and you all know how much I detest tardiness," she stated, the hint of a smile tugging at one side of her mouth.

Unsure whether or not the usually strict deputy headmistress had just cracked a joke, Hermione merely nodded, an action she saw mimicked peripherally by both her companions.

"The headmaster is tending to school business elsewhere tonight, so he requested that I escort you to headquarters," explained McGonagall. "Although," she continued thoughtfully, "if, as seems likely, this becomes a regular occurrence, perhaps you would prefer more permanent arrangement for your visits?"

Apparently rhetorical, McGonagall did not await an answer to her last statement, instead she turned on her heal and swept into the now moving stairwell, beckoning her fourth years to follow.

The ride to the top of the tower was a silent affair as Harry and Hermione silently communicated their curiosity as to what form a 'more permanent arrangement' might take;

_Do you think Dumbledore would give us our own private fireplace? _wondered Harry.

_I doubt it, Harry. More likely a Portkey of some sort, _suggested Hermione, feeling, rather than seeing the wide smile that graced her boyfriends lips at the prospect.

_Wouldn't it be great if we could just visit Sirius whenever we wanted? _he enthused.

"So then, who's first?" enquired McGonagall, pulling Hermione and Harry from their silent conversation.

Hermione blinked as she noted that her feet had carried her across the threshold of Dumbledore's office, subconsciously following the purposeful stride of their head-of-house towards the stone fireplace that stood on one wall of the space.

"Ah, Mr Weasley. Excellent," she proclaimed as Ron took a step forward.

In truth Harry, who Hermione knew had a deep dislike of Floo travel, had held back slightly giving the impression that the slightly bewildered looking Ron had volunteered for the task.

"You've travelled by Floo before I presume?" McGonagall asked Ron directly holding out a small bowl full of silvery green powder.

"Yeah...loads," replied Ron recovering his composure and taking a large handful of powder, which, Hermione noticed, although spilled out between the gaps between her friends fingers, never appeared to make it as far as the floor; the elegant rug beneath his feet unmarked by the overflowing Floo Powder.

Inquisitive by nature, Hermione opened her mouth to quiz Professor McGonagall on the adaptation of the repellent charm she assumed was in use in the headmasters study, but she was cut off by the transfiguration teacher issuing Ron with further instructions leaving her curiosity unsatisfied for the time being.

Ron nodded his head once in understanding and threw the powder into the hearth turning their flames a similar hue to that of Harry's eyes.

"Here, give us those guys," said Ron motioning towards the gift bags they both clutched. "I'm used to flooing with my arms full."

An image of Ron weighed down by dozens of packages after a Weasley family trip to diagon alley appeared in Hermione's inner eye, but she could not say at that moment whether it was one of her own memories or that of her bond mates.

"An excellent suggestion, Mr Weasley," agreed McGonagall, and a few moments later both Hermione and Harry had offloaded their burdens onto their friend.

"See you there then," he said, before confidently stepping over the grate and into the emerald flames, repeating the instructions Professor McGonagall had just relayed to him. "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place," he said, enunciating each syllable clearly.

The flames roared higher and in an instant Ron was whisked away in a haze of green flame.

Once the fire had subsided, McGonagall turned to face Harry and Hermione once more. "Who's next?"

A few moments later, Hermione stood in front of the grate having 'lost' the ensuing silent battle of rock, paper, scissors that their bond permitted them to perform in order to decide who should go next.

Repeating Ron's actions, she threw the powder at her feet, startled, despite her intellectual understanding of Floo travel, that the green flames that licked at her clothing as she stepped into the fire were not overly hot to the touch.

"Number twelve, Grimmauld Place," she repeated, carefully matching Ron's diction.

Dumbledore's neatly order office dissolved before her eyes as a sensation not that dissimilar, she assumed, to that of being trapped inside a giant muggle washing machine took hold of her body.

A few disorientating seconds later, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief as her feet hit solid ground once more.

She opened her eyes (having shut them against the dizzying sensation that left her feeling very pleased she had not yet eaten an evening meal) and took in the details of what she assumed to be number twelve kitchen.

There was a long scrubbed wooden table sat in the centre of the room which was cluttered, both with the gift bags that Ron had insisted on carrying, and dozens of items of cookware, ingredients and countless pots and pans; several of which were simmering gently on a stove set on the wall opposite the fireplace in which she still stood. Her stomach growled loudly in response to the wonderful aromas issuing forth from them. She could also tell that every surface, or at least the ones she could see, were spotless, informing her that Dobby had indeed been hard at work.

Ron was standing directly in front of her, his fiery red hair coated in a fine layer of soot. "Alright Hermione?" he said brightly, extending his hand to help her out of the fireplace.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply in the affirmative when she realised that she definitely did not feel okay.

A strange sensation, that she could only describe latterly as being akin to her whole body feeling like an overly stretched rubber band swept through her leaving her feeling weak and unsteady on her feet; a condition she felt certain had nothing to do with her disorientating introduction to Floo travel moments earlier.

"Hermione?" repeated Ron, his voice laced with concern. "You don't look too..."

But whatever Ron had been about to voice was lost to her as her knees buckled underneath her and her eyes slid shut, only saved from hitting her head on the stone mantle by Ron's strong arms wrapping around her limp form and carrying her into the room.

_Our bond_, the logical part of her mind reasoned even as she felt her conciousness slipping away.

Her mind felt like it was full of cotton wool meaning she had to concentrate incredibly hard on a snippet of information her subconscious mind had linked to her present condition.

A paragraph from a book on soul bonding she had checked out of the library earlier that week which read;

_" ... subjects of a soul bond will often experience a deep seated need to be in close proximity with their bond mate during the earliest days of their connection. Although this need does subside in time, excessive and prolonged physical distance between bonded couples can have dire consequences to the health of one or both subjects ... "_

Sirius's home she knew was somewhere in the heart of London, whereas Harry was still several hundred miles away in the highlands of Scotland. In fact if she concentrated very hard, she could almost sense him standing in the fireplace in Dumbledore's office.

But, from what she had read, she had been of the belief that a distance of just a few hundred miles would be of little consequence, especially for such a short period of time.

_Perhaps the strength of the bond is directly proportional to the distance we can be separated? _wondered a detached part of her mind. _The stronger the bond, the closer the required proximity_?

_Harry_! she mouthed, unable to form the words as she felt Ron settle her onto the flagstone floor, his panicked calls for assistance sounding strangely distant to her own ears.

A loud pop of apparition echoed around the kitchen as, perhaps drawn there by Ron's pleas for assistance, the diminutive frame of Dobby appeared from thin air. "Master Potters Wheezy?" asked Dobby, his already protuberant eyes widening in horror as he took stock of Hermione's prone form. "Mistress Mione!" he called frantically, as simultaneously a loud bang signified Harry's arrival.

Hermione's eyes snapped back open as she felt the elastic band of their bond ping back into position. "Harry!" she called as she pushed herself to her feet leaving a bewildered looking Ron crouched on the floor as she hurried to her soul mates side.

Harry had, quite literally, fallen out of the fireplace and was now lying face down on the floor looking ghostly white.

"Harry?" she cried as she skidded to a halt on her beside him on her knees and gently rolled him onto his back.

"H-Hermione?" replied Harry groggily as his eyelids flickered open.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Harry pushed the heel of his other palm into his temple, letting out a low groan as he did so. "Merlin, I hate flooing."

Hermione felt the knot of tension that had formed in her stomach ease and she pulled him into a tender embrace, hot tears of joy flowing freely down her cheeks as one phrase repeated over and over in her mind; _Harry's safe._

"That was nothing to do with flooing, mate," put in Ron who had risen and moved closer to the couple. "You looked - you _both_ looked really weird back there for a moment."

"Both?" asked Harry in obvious alarm as he latched onto the key word of Ron's statement his concerned gaze searching out Hermione's.

Hermione pulled back from their embrace and wiped her fresh tears from her eyes. She was gratified to note that the colour was returning to Harry's cheeks, although he did still look 'a bit green round the gills' as her mother would have said.

"It's the bond Harry," she explained quietly so that only he could hear, her eyes downcast as a wave of guilt crashed over her. "We can't be separated like that. I should have known..." she added quietly, her last few syllables almost inaudible.

"Hey," said Harry, cupping her under the chin and lifting her eyes to meet his. "This isn't your fault," he said having obviously discerned the cause of her upset through their link. "I read that book too you know," he continued, smoothly ignoring the fact that Hermione's brown eyes had snapped up in surprise of that fact. "No one could have known that such a relatively short distance and timescale could have affected us so badly," he finished, holding Hermione's gaze until she lowered her chin subtly in a gesture of acceptance.

"Would someone mind telling me what the bloody hell just happened?" interrupted Ron, his brusque tone unable to hide his deep seated concerns for his best friends.

For a moment Harry ignored Ron's question, directing his attention towards Dobby who was still standing silently nearby instead. "Dobby. Can you go and find Sirius for us please?"

"If Master Harry is sure he and his Mione is okay?"

Harry nodded his head once in confirmation and the little elf disappeared.

"It's our bond," said Harry returning his focus to Ron pushing himself to his feet and holding out a hand to pull Hermione up too. "We can't be separated like that again."

Ron's mouth worked itself into a wide 'o' as understanding dawned. "Too right," he agreed after a moment. "I can't always be on hand to catch your girlfriend for you when she faints, mate," he joked.

"You fainted?" Harry wanted to know as he locked his eyes on hers once more.

"Nearly," Hermione admitted. "I just felt really weak all of a sudden and my legs kind of gave out. Ron caught me."

"Hey," shrugged Ron, his face wearing a wry grin. "It's not like I mind pretty girls throwing themselves at me."

Hermione watched on in amusement as Ron's grin collapsed as he appeared to realise what he had said, his eyes darting nervously between Harry and Hermione several times as he stuttered his apologies;

"N-not that I think you're pretty Hermione ... well I mean obviously you _are_ attractive ... er, just not to me I mean ... you're like my sister ... not that I think Ginny's pretty or anything ... "

Hermione felt her lips crack into a wide smile in response to her best platonic friends obvious discomfort. Taking pity on the babbling redhead she took two purposeful stride forward, stood on tip-toe, and pressed a gentle kiss onto his cheek. "Thank you Ronald," she said softly.

His mouth hanging open at a peculiar angle, his eyes still riveted to Harry as if certain his best friend was about to launch himself at him, Ron touched his index finger to the spot Hermione had kissed.

He was saved any further awkwardness as a new voice boomed out across the space.

"Alright pups? What's all the commotion about?"

Three pairs of eyes spun to the doorway of the kitchen where an unfamiliar man stood, leaning nonchalantly against the door frame.

Hermione was certain she did not know the identity of the newcomer, but there was definitely something about his bearing that sparked a flicker of recognition.

The stranger was dressed in an obviously expensive, if slightly old fashioned outfit, which consisted of a deep plum jacket, charcoal waistcoat and a purple shirt which had its last two buttons deliberately undone. From the shine of his highly polished shoes to the neatly trimmed brown beard and hair, this was obviously someone who cared a great deal about his appearance.

"Oh come now," said the man in mock hurt as he read the blank expressions of the trio before him. "Don't say you don't recognise me!"

"S-Sirius?" ventured Harry, squinting at the newcomer as if that would enable him to see through any disguise.

"Smart lad my godson," said Sirius with a wink directed at Ron. With a wave of a wand his features quickly lengthened and his hair darkened several tones, once more becoming recognisable as Sirius Black.

"Been practising my glamour charms," he said by way of explanation stepping further into the room a warm smile etched on his pale face. "No use to the order if I'm cooped up in here all the time."

"Sirius!" repeated Harry, embracing his godfather in a warm hug.

"Good to see you too, pup," replied Sirius looking down fondly at his best friends son.

Harry and Hermione shared a knowing look. "Okay," said Harry. "We've got to know. Why do you call us pups?"

"Isn't it obvious?" asked Sirius. He sounded like he was thoroughly enjoying himself. "I'm your dogfather. Get it? _Dog_father."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Sirius' irreverent behaviour as Harry and Ron's booming laughter rang out through the narrow kitchen but she couldn't prevent her lips from curling into a small smile as she recognised just how good it would be for Harry to experience the joy of being part of a true family.

"Now is anyone going to answer my question?" Sirius continued taking in each of the teenagers before him, his jovial veneer faltering slightly as his gaze settled briefly on Hermione; a change Hermione did not fail to note. "I was just upstairs putting the finishing touches to the training room when I heard what sounded like a herd of Hippogriff's taking up residence in my kitchen."

Harry and Hermione shared another of their silent conversations in which they decided that Hermione should be the one to answer Sirius's query.

"We just discovered our bond doesn't permit us to be separated," she replied evenly. "I nearly passed out and Harry collapsed. I guess that's the racket you heard from upstairs," she finished lamely.

Sirius blinked dumbly, his eye line shifting between his godson and his young wife, his mouth opening a closing several times as words appeared to fail him as he assimilated the implications of Hermione's statement.

"But that would mean..." he stuttered finally, running his hand roughly through his hair.

"...ours is one of the strongest bonds on record," Hermione supplied when it became clear that Sirius was not able to complete his train of thought.

"I - I had no idea," Sirius mumbled shooting another furtive glance towards Hermione.

_Pop_.

A crack of apparition broke the awkward silence that threatened to descend.

"Begging master Harry's pardon, but Dobby could not find..." Dobby squeaky voice trailed off as his wide green eyes fell upon the figure of Sirius Black whom he had been tasked with finding.

"Ah, Dobby," said Sirius, re-finding his voice. "Can I ask you to stay until after dinner? Harry and Hermione are in need of a ride home."

The little elf nodded his head furiously, his bat like ears flapping wildly. "Dobby would be happy to."

"Well that's that taken care of then mate," said Ron and he gave Harry a slap on the shoulder. "Dobby can be your personal chauffeur!"

The frown that threatened to crease Hermione's forehead at the thought of having Dobby effectively at their beck and call was abated somewhat as the little elf puffed out his tiny chest in obvious pride at the important roll he had been tasked with. "Only if you want to though Dobby," she clarified crouching down to the diminutive elf's eye line.

"Very much so Mistress Mione," Dobby replied eagerly.

Hermione nodded her acceptance. "Thank you Dobby, you've already done so much for us."

"Yeah," interrupted Ron. "I nearly forgot. We brought you some thank you gifts."

Hermione stood abruptly knowing all too well what reaction Ron's last statement would be rewarded with.

"Gifts?" repeated Dobby his orb like eyes aglow and bottom lip trembling. "For Do-obby?"

As she had expected, Dobby quickly dissolved into tears - loud wailing tears, making her very glad of the extra three feet she had put between her ears and the bawling elf.

His emotional outburst did at least to serve to break the unacknowledged tension that still hung in the kitchen after Hermione's revelations as all four Gryffindors past and present alike knelt and attempted to comfort the little elf.

"N-never has D-dobby served such honourable and k-kind wi-wizards," Dobby hiccuped between joyful tears after they had somewhat succeeded in calming him down.

Hermione wisely resisted the urge to tell him that they considered him a part of the family rather than a servant certain that, unplottable or not, every muggle police officer in London would descend on Sirius's residence given the racket that Dobby would surely make at such a proclamation.

"Well," said Sirius shifting to a standing position and working the kinks out of his spine. "Who's up for a quick tour?" I think we've got a few minutes still before dinner and I want to show you the wonderful job Dobby has done on the place," he finished, shooting an anxious glance towards the house-elf obviously expecting him to burst into uncontrollable tears again in response to his praise. Mercifully, Dobby only hicupped and blew his nose on the handkerchief Harry had given him.

"That would be great," replied Harry as he too rose from his crouched posture, ignoring Ron's longing look towards the still bubbling pans on the stove. "You said you've got a training room?"

"Absolutely," said Sirius enthusiastically. "It makes the room of requirement back at Hogwarts look like a..." but whatever comparison he was about to make was left unspoken as Sirius took in the trio's frowns of confusion.

"Oh come on! What are they teaching kids in schools nowadays if they haven't even been able to find the room of requirement by their fourth year?" he joked. "Have no fear though. We'll make marauders out of you lot yet," he added. "Now come on, it's on the top floor."

Sirius turned on his heel to lead the three friends out the narrow doorway he had come through earlier.

"Actually, Sirius?" called Hermione to his retreating back having taken a stride forward herself. As he turned his gaze so that grey eyes met brown she decided that there was no time like the present to confront him regarding his obvious discomfort around her. Summoning all of her resolve, she took a deep breath and added; "I was wondering if I could have a word with you. In private?" She had added the last two words in response to Harry's piercing gaze she could literally feel boring into the back of her head.

If Sirius experienced any surprise at her request he didn't show it. "Anything for Mistress Mione," he quipped with a half bow and a smile that once again failed to reach his eyes. "Dobby? Perhaps you could show Ron and Harry around?"

The house-elf scrambled to his feet and nodded his head eagerly. "This ways," he said before grabbing Harry's right and Ron's left hand respectively, before all but pulling them (with surprising strength) from the room. Harry had just enough time to look over his shoulder and lock his puzzled eyes with his bond mate as he was elf handled towards the narrow stairway that led out of the kitchen - his silent question obvious: _Is everything ok?_

Hermione nodded once in confirmation and he was lost to sight.

"So?" said Sirius, his tone falsely bright. "How's school?"

_School?_ Hermione arched an eyebrow as she mentally double checked that she had not misheard Sirius who was now pacing up and down the galley style kitchen, stopping now and then to stir or sample the contents of a couple of the pans. _School! _she mentally repeated with rising ire as she realised she had indeed heard him correctly. _Does he really think he can fob me off like that?_

"Forgive me if this comes across sounding rude, Mr Black - " she began formally.

"Sirius, pleased," Sirius implored meeting her gaze for the first time.

" - Sirius, then," agreed Hermione shortly. "But I have to know. Do you have a problem with me being with Harry?"

"What? No. Whatever gave you that idea? I'm pleased as punch for little pronglet..." jabbered Sirius.

"Don't insult my intelligence, Sirius," she interrupted, slightly surprised to note the degree of venom behind her words. "You _were_ 'pleased as punch' back in the cave," she paraphrased, placing particular emphasis on her use of the past tense. "But as soon as you figured out we were married you've been cold and distant towards me and I want to know why."

Stunned at her audacity in speaking in such a manner to an adult, Hermione folded her arms across her chest, partially in an attempt to maintain at least the appearance of control but in truth mostly to prevent herself from fidgeting under Sirius's withering glare.

To her surprise, however, Sirius did not immediately rebuke her accusation. Instead, he placed both of his palms on the counter and hung his head, his dark hair falling over his face and hiding his features from view.

"I'm sorry," he whispered so softly that Hermione had to strain to hear over the sounds of the kitchen.

"So you do have a problem with me?"

Sirius straightened up and turned to face her. "Please don't think badly of me, Hermione" he said softly, pushing his untamed locks out of his face to reveal, what Hermione read, as real sincerity in his grey eyes. "I just didn't want to see Harry get hurt. He's been through enough."

Not willing to trust herself to speak, Hermione merely nodded for Sirius to continue.

"As you said, I was deliriously happy when I learnt that you two had gotten together. I thought I saw something between the two of you that night you freed me, but you were both so young I couldn't be sure. So when I saw you holding hands and realised that I had been right I was overjoyed."

"But?" prompted Hermione.

"But, when I heard Dobby call you mistress and I figured out that meant you were married having only been together for less than a week I'm ashamed to admit that I thought you were after Harry's trust fund. That you were a...what's the muggle expression?"

"A Gold Digger?" ventured Hermione.

"That's it," agreed Sirius. "I thought you were after Harry's galleons."

"But you don't think that now?" reasoned Hermione.

"No," replied Sirius. "Not after you explained you were bonded - the strength of which I witnessed first hand tonight," he added. "You can't fake that kind of love, Hermione, I just hope you can forgive me."

Hermione felt a flood of relief wash over her. He was only looking out for Harry, she realised and she opened her mouth with the intention of accepting Sirius's apology when the logical part of her mind shoved a thought to the forefront of her crowded mind.

"Hang on," she said voicing her forming train of thought aloud. "You've know for days that we're bonded, so why were you still acting strange around me?"

Sirius ran a hand through his dark hair. "Like I told you. I was ashamed of myself for being able to think such a thing of you. You clearly care deeply for Harry. I haven't been able to properly look you in the eyes since," he admitted.

"It's forgotten," proclaimed Hermione making sure to catch his gaze and was rewarded with an infectious smile that she felt certain explained why Sirius had once held such a formidable reputation as a ladies man.

Pulling her into a warm embrace with his chin resting on the top of her head, Hermione noted with relief that the aroma of wet dog had been banished, replaced with a scent that smelt vaguely citrusy.

"Come on, pup," he said as he released her. "Dinner's almost ready. Let's eat."

A/M – Welcome back everyone. I've managed to get back on track with the update rate and hope to keep up this once a week schedule from now on.

As to the chapter, its largely a building chapter laying some important foundations for later chapters. Without giving too much away Hermione and Harry's inability to be physically separated will be important in later chapters so I wanted to highlight it now.

Not much else to say really so feel free to comment on your way out if you wish.

Wings


	14. Chapter 14 Simply Forgotten

_A/N - For those of you reading multiple fics, there is a recap of the story so far bellow my author musings (sounds much better than author notes, right?) at the bottom of this chapter to help you remember exactly what has occurred so far._

_This one is a looooong one. So lock yourself in a room without distractions for a few minutes before you read. That's an order ;) _

_Ownership of Potterverse check-list: Am I a woman? **No**. Do I have an OBE? **No**. Do I have squillions of pounds in the bank? **No**. Blast. HP can't be mine then. _

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fourteen - Simply Forgotten<strong>

It had taken much of the last month for spring to finally assert it's dominance over the remnants of winter, finally banishing the cruel winds that had dominated the weather throughout much of March to memory; the month often renowned for its showers, instead dawning dry and consistently bright.

The lack of wind did, however, ensure that the memory of the harsh winter just past was still fresh in the mind of anyone foolish enough not to don their winter cloak prior to heading outside in the hours immediately after sunrise - the cloudless, star speckled nights leaving the ground thick with frost; an icy blanket that had persisted well after breakfast each day that week.

Hermione hummed happily to herself as she made her way down the slopping lawns of the castle, headed in the general direction of the edge of the forbidden forest where she was expecting to meet Luna for their weekly class. A lesson that the Ravenclaw third year had promised would be their first practical exercise in their ongoing attempts to unlock any potentially useful fore-knowledge locked within her mind.

Over the last month, both Harry and Hermione had diligently completed their dream diaries, and, although Hermione had not been forced to re-live the nightmare that had been her vision of Harry's death - something she was most grateful for - neither had she had _any_ dreams that could be construed as being flash-forwards (as she had come to term them) to her future self; a fact that Luna appeared totally unphased by.

In fact, Hermione had to admit, the outwardly ditzy girl had proven deeply insightful when Hermione had voiced those same concerns regarding a lack of tangible progress at the conclusion of their previous lesson.

_"Strange," _Luna had replied thoughtfully in response._ "Do you not learn from your failures? I know I do. When things go right for me I don't sit down and analyse them. But if something doesn't work the way I want it to, I tend to get introspective and consider how to improve. It is _not_ succeeding which teaches us - motivates us to do better. Don't you find, Hermione?"_

Hermione had found she couldn't disagree with the blonde.

_"Besides," _Luna had continued._ "Until you can control your dreams by entering a waking slumber, you won't be able to exert any control over what you experience in that state, so for now it is enough to merely recall the details of whatever visions your subconscious chooses to share with you. But I do believe that you are right," _she had added without pausing for breath._ "I think it is time for our efforts to become more pro-active."_

Their 'professor' had then promised to owl them the details before promptly skipping away.

Hermione had only been able to marvel at Luna's apparently limitless supply of patience. She was used to pushing herself, sometimes achieving her goals through nothing less than sheer bloody mindedness (her mammoth work load during her third year being the most recent case in point). But the young Ravenclaw had proven to be something of a revelation as a teacher and Hermione had grown to trust her implicitly. As such, she duly accepted Luna's calm assurances at face value.

Their classes together had so far focused on how to aid dream recall utilising several different techniques, ranging from auto-suggestion to meditative breathing prior to settling down to sleep each night - Luna's efforts ensuring that even Harry, who had once claimed he never remembered any of his dreams, could now recall at least one dream in detail each night. However he had occasionally reserved the right not to share the details of those dreams in class. The slight blush in his cheeks on those occasions leaving Hermione in absolutely no doubt as to whom _those_ dreams pertained to.

The feather-light touch of Harry's thoughts pulled her thoughts back to the present, a subtle smile gracing her lips as she felt him mentally reach out to her_; I'm on my way down now,_ he told her. His statement causing Hermione's smile to broaden with pride as she crested a slight rise which afforded her an excellent view of Hagrids hunt bellow, where she paused to allow Harry to catch up with her, knowing their bond would lead him straight to her.

The change in Harry over the past few weeks had been as startling as it was welcome. In addition to his new found dedication to his studies (he was running late this morning, as, in a complete reversal of their usual roles, today it was Harry who had rushed back to the library to 'quickly check on something for potions later'), he had also devoted just as much time and energy to his extracurricular lessons with Luna, and now Sirius. The later having been granted permission by Professor Dumbledore to educate Harry and Hermione in the art of advanced defensive and offensive spells; a task he, in his own words, was 'ably assisted' by their former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher and fellow marauder, Remus Lupin.

Thanks to Sirius' surprisingly well structured lessons, both Harry and Hermione were now able to control their strengthened cores with proficiency far beyond their years, their resultant additional magical power forcing them to restrain themselves somewhat in regular classes to avoid arousing suspicions. Their bond and subsequent status as a married couple was still a secret outside of the order, and, as Dumbledore had been quick to remind them at the last meeting, they still had yet to figure out who had been using polyjuice potion to disguise themselves - a fact that meant recruiting for the order needed to be kept as clandestine as possible.

As such, other than those present at the first unofficial order meeting in the Hogwarts kitchens, only Luna Lovegood, Remus Lupin and Professor's McGonagall and Snape had been inducted into the new order, unwilling as they were to trust the secret of the reformation of the resistance with anyone else, should that information somehow leak out to the ears of Voldemort and his supporters._ Constant vigilance,_ thought Hermione with a half smile, wondering what their often paranoid Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher would think to his omission from that list. _Probably applaud our caution,_ she decided.

Knowing that Harry would likely catch her up in a few minutes, Hermione took a moment to savour the tranquillity of the day. The sky overhead was a brilliant, cloudless blue, allowing the suns golden rays to beat down uninterrupted. With the hour fast approaching eleven o'clock, any evidence of Jack Frost's handiwork had long been been removed and a thin sheen of perspiration now glistened on her brow.

Closing her eyes she unfastened her cloak and allowed it to fall to the floor, she inhaled the scent of the wild tulips that had already bloomed on the slope that lead down towards Hagrids vegetable patch; their aroma co-mingling with the pleasing smell of freshly cut grass and the sounds of bird song from the nearby forest - the unmistakeable call of the cuckoo amongst them for the first time that year.

Yes, the last month had certainly been one of the best of her life; even Crookshanks appeared to have gotten used to her new magical signature and was back to being his usual affectionate self around her. The only blot on her otherwise happy existence being the delivery of several pieces of hate mail directed towards her following Rita Skeeters last report on her claiming that she had somehow tricked Harry into falling in love with her - Harry's rage on her behalf at that insinuation had been something that was both sweet and scary to behold in equal measure.

Fortunately Dumbledore had intervened on her behalf, using his position as headmaster to block any further unfriendly mail from being delivered, and his position on the wizengamot to ensure that every single piece of hate mail was traced back to it's author, the perpetrators receiving punishment to the fullest extent of the law.

"Hey," came Harry's instantly recognisable voice from behind her as his arms snaked around her waist and he planted a soft kiss on her exposed neck. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Hermione smiled softly - Harry had always been able to read her as easily as one of the books she cherished. "Just happy I guess," she replied, her smile morphing into a wide grin as her mind highlighted the fact that, even after nearly four years immersed in the wizarding world, Harry had still posed his question using the muggle version of that idiom.

Rotating within the prison of Harry arms, shifting his hands so that they were now resting on the curve of her hips, she wound her arms around his neck, marvelling as always that they fitted so perfectly together - Harry's chin coming to rest on the top of her head as she rested her cheek against his shoulder.

Hermione knew that if Ron had been present he would be making mock gagging noises at the sight of yet another of their public displays of affection, but this was simply how it was for them now; although in no physical danger during such short distance separations, it was a simple fact that neither of them felt complete without the other. As a result their reunions often gave the impression that they had not seen one another in many weeks as opposed to the few hours that had past during their time apart for lessons or sleep.

"So," said Harry pulling back to arms length to regard Hermione, a mischievous twinkle in his emerald eyes. "Assuming yours truly is at least partially responsible for that happiness, I presume I am eligible for some sort of recompense?"

Hermione's brow briefly furrowed in confusion before she realised that he was being flirtatious. "Prat!" she retorted with a playful swat to his chest, but, not to be denied, Harry leant down to place a tender kiss on her lips to claim his payment.

Experiencing the same tingle of electricity she did every time their lips touched, Hermione ran a hand up the back of his neck and into his hairline, pulling him deeper into their kiss, Harry responding with a feral growl which he directed into her mouth as his hand snaked down onto her buttocks.

Whilst it was true that in the month they had been dating they had not progress much beyond what those signs at the local swimming pools still referred to as 'heavy petting', Hermione couldn't deny that sooner or later they were going to take their physical relationship to the next level, but, for the time being at least, their open flirtations and make out sessions were as harmless as they were fun.

_Stop over analysing_, chided her emotional half, _just enjoy._

But her rational side proved to be just as vocal; _Now is not the time or the place, Hermione._

It was an assertion Hermione could not deny and she pulled back from their kiss, breaking their embrace.

No matter what the (very) graphic images in her minds eye were coaxing her to do, to give in to such desires here, in full view of anyone who happened to look out of one of the castles many windows, would be unwise to say the least. There would be other occasions and far better moments to explore those feelings at a later date.

"We're going to be late, Harry," she admonished, crouching to grasp her discarded cloak in one hand and Harry by the other as she led him down the slope hoping her cheeks were not as flushed as Harry's.

A few minutes later they found themselves walking the shadow mottled outskirts of the forest, their shoes crunching through the forest detritus beneath their feet as they made their way to the spot Luna had requested they meet with her; her owled letter confirming the time and place of their next lesson in addition to the fact that she had been granted special permission by the headmaster to conduct said lesson in an area that was, strictly speaking, out of bounds to all students.

"Oh, hello class," came Luna's dreamy voice as they rounded a thicket of trees.

Hermione squelched a residual prickle of annoyance in response to Luna's regular greeting. A class consisting of just two students was hardly worthy of the name, but, as Hermione could not deny that she had learnt a great deal from Luna's unique perspective on the world, she forced herself to hold her tongue.

Luna was sitting cross legged on the forest floor, her school skirt littered with tiny pieces of leaves and other associated debris. "I was starting to think that your minds had both been fogged by all the Drowcaps in the castle at this time of year."

Harry's lips parted slightly, presumably to pose the question that had occurred simultaneously to Hermione_ (Drowcaps?)_, but Luna cut him off.

"Tiny insect-like creatures," she explained. "They leave Swiss cheese sized holes in your memory you know? My Uncle Beckett had the worst case of them after a night out celebrating the Harpies last title. He couldn't even remember where he lived."

Hermione stifled a giggle. It struck her that several rounds of fire whiskey induced inebriation seemed a far more likely cause for her uncles 'navigational malfunction' than anything else. As much as she had come to like and respect Luna she was still a very odd young woman.

"No," said Harry, schooling his voice so that only Hermione could detect the trace of mirth in his tone. "No Drowcaps. I just had to check something up at the library. Sorry we're late."

"No matter," replied Luna amiably, waving a hand to dismiss his apology, tapping the soft ground with her other hand in an obvious invitation for them both to sit.

Harry and Hermione duly dropped their school bags and arranged themselves on the forest floor directly opposite Luna, their limbs subconsciously arranged to maintain some degree of physical contact with one another.

Luna watched them serenely for a few moments before speaking aloud; "I suppose you are both wondering why I asked you to meet me in the forest?"

For his part Harry merely shrugged, evidently he had not considered it important, but, as it was a question that had certainly occurred to Hermione shortly after she received Luna's owl she nodded her head and replied in the affirmative.

"I thought it might prove beneficial to conduct our first experiment in an environment you feel comfortable in," replied Luna by way of explanation.

It was certainly not the answer Hermione had expected as several haphazard images swam across her minds eye as she recalled memories from both her own and Harry's time within the forest, each one, more so than the last, confirming that she most definitely did _not_ feel particularly comfortable in the forbidden forest: Voldemort attempting to attack Harry during first year as they served detention with Malfoy; Ron and Harry's narrow escape from Aragog's hollow; Hermione and Harry's attempts to alter history and save both Sirius and Harry from a dementor attack.

She was about to voice those feelings aloud when Luna cut across her and continued;

"I chose the forest after I noticed several repeating dreamsigns in your dream diary..."

Her mouth still slightly open from her earlier intention to speak, Hermione rearranged her lips lips and repeated; "Dreamsigns?"

"Yes," Luna replied with a single nod of confirmation. "Your diaries have allowed me to identify any themes to your dreams. Reoccurring places, people, even everyday items," she explained. "Once identified it should be possible to initiate a particular dream by stimulating specific senses whilst still awake."

"And we've got some of these...what did you call them? _Dreamsigns_?" Harry asked.

"Hermione more so than you, Harry," replied Luna evenly. "However," she added fixing Harry with a knowing look well beyond her years, "I've no doubt that if you'd shared _all_ your dreams, a pattern would have surely emerged there too," Luna concluded, her eyes almost imperceptibly shifting to Hermione before settling once more on Harry.

Unable to meet her eyes, Harry dropped his gaze as his cheeks turned crimson.

Apparently oblivious to Harry's obvious embarrassment, Luna drew a breath to continue, but was cut off by Hermione, timing her interruption to perfection in an attempt to save Harry from any further embarrassment. As Dumbledore had said, Luna was incredibly perceptive in some areas, but with regards to social interactions she was often clueless. "So," she said. "My dreamsigns have something to do with woodland." After all, it was the only logical conclusion based one what Luna had already divulged, however, knowing that only by getting Luna to answer a direct question would she save Harry from further discomfort, Hermione was careful to modulate the inflection of her voice to sound questioning rather than the statement of fact she believed it to be.

"That's right, Hermione," agreed Luna, switching her attention away from Harry, Hermione instantly experiencing a wave of palpable relief wash over her which very clearly spoke of Harry's gratitude. "Several of your dreams took place either in woodland or around trees - "

Hermione acknowledged the accuracy of Luna's statement with a nod. Now that she thought on it, several of her dreams during the last month did indeed feature a forest of some description; she mentally ticked them off.

She had dreamt often of the night of the quidditch world cup, almost as if her subconscious was trying to draw her attention to something she had thus far overlooked when they had fled into the woodland beyond the field they had been camping in, and her nightmare of Harry facing off against a reborn Voldemort whilst so far a one off, also took place deep in a forest clearing she now recognised, thanks to the flash of memory Harry had shared with her only minutes ago, as that of Aragog's abandoned lair.

Oddly enough, she had also been experiencing something that, although used to feature regularly in her dreams, had not revisited her sleep in quite some time. A dream stemming back to a childhood trip her parents had taken her on to the Forest of Dean. Then, despite her intellectual understanding of the sounds of the forest at night, eight year old Hermione Granger had awoken terrified of the unfamiliar noises that surrounded their tent. Understanding both her fears, and the frustration she felt with herself, her Father had held her long into the night

It could not exactly be described as a nightmare, as Hermione found it strangely comforting, but she equally knew she only experienced that particular dream when she was feeling anxious about something.

" - which is why I have chosen to conduct our lesson here," concluded Luna brightly,

"You hope to instigate one of those dreams," Hermione stated matter-of-factly.

"Mm hmm," Luna agreed, perhaps answering something Hermione had deliberately _not_ phrased as a question as she was distracted by rummaging around in her school bag for something. "More specifically a dream you had three times in the last month about a family holiday to the Forest of Dean."

"Hang on," put in Harry thoughtfully, uttering his first words since Hermione had shifted attention away from the contents of his unrecorded dreams. "Why are we trying to initiate a dream from the past? You were, what Hermione, nine years old?"

"Eight," Hermione corrected.

"Ok, eight. Aren't we supposed to be trying to see into the future?"

"Absolutely," agreed Luna withdrawing three stoppered vials of colourless liquid from her satchel. "But first we need to be able to take control of something we already know to be a dream before we can learn to manipulate and alter events. Only then will we be able to attempt to unlock future memories."

Hermione cupped her chin as she assimilated Luna's assumptions, realising them to be wholly logical. "So you've brought us to the forest to try and ease the transition into that one particular dream?"

"Precisely. Our senses of smell and hearing are the last to shut down as we enter sleep, so being surrounded by the sounds and the smells of the forest should help."

"And what are those for?" Harry wanted to know, gesturing toward the three, presumably potion filled vials, which lay on Luna's lap.

"Professor Dumbledore had Professor Snape brew these for us," replied Luna, palming the three glass containers which clinked loudly as she lifted them to her eye giving their contents a little shake. "The draught of collective thought," she proclaimed.

Harry's face contorted, presumably at the thought of consuming anything that Severus Snape had brewed, but Hermione's eyes widened in surprise co-mingled with curiosity as she recalled reading of the existence of such a potion; a potion so complicated to make, according to a NEWT textbook she had perused, that only it's existence was alluded to in the heavy tome. No mention had been made of how to concoct such a draught.

"Isn't that..."

"Devilishly tricky to make?" cut in Luna. Although in truth Hermione had been intending to say, _dangerous_. "Yes. But Professor Dumbledore assures me that this is the most perfect example of the collective thought potion he has ever seen."

"What's it for?" Harry asked.

Luna's lips parted to reply, but Hermione had already begun to speak, forcing Harry to suppress a grin as he wondered, and not for the first time, who exactly was teaching the class.

Ignoring Harry's stray thought as it passed across her mind, Hermione slipped easily into lecture mode. "The draught of collective thought was once used to expand wizard-kinds knowledge of magic and it's applications," she explained. "Kind of like hooking up dozens of muggle computers to make a super-computer. I guess the theory was that two heads were better than one."

"But?" prompted Harry, obviously sensing Hermione had more to say.

"But," conceded Hermione. "If it is brewed incorrectly the potion can act as an even more effective mind control than the Imperius Curse, rendering the other subjects little more than mindless drones. The only reason dark wizards favour the Imperius Curse over it is because their is no guarantee of which wizard would establish themselves as the dominant mind when using the draught."

"So it's..._dangerous_." commented Harry, unwittingly using the same word that Hermione had internally used to describe the draught.

"Sometimes," Luna acceded, failing wholeheartedly to put either Harry or Hermione's minds at ease. "But it is the only way I can continue to help you," she added with a trace of steel in her voice that was very unlike her usual wispy tones. "Your bond ensures that if you successfully achieve the state of waking slumber you will both experience the same events. But for me to be able to guide you through what can be quite a disorientating experience, we need to drink these."

To punctuate her point, Luna clinked the vials together once more, but remained silent as Harry and Hermione shared a look that she had come to recognise signified one of their silent communions with one another, the subtlest of nods from Harry confirming that they had reached a consensus. "We'll do it," he said assertively, directing his determined gaze at Luna.

By way of response, Luna unstoppered all three containers with her wand and passed a vial each to Harry and Hermione respectively.

"Your good health," she said, repeating the same words Albus Dumbledore had spoken to her every time they had afternoon tea together and she upended the bottle and drained it's contents in one gulp.

Hermione gave a mental shrug and copied the Ravenclaws actions, somehow managing to avoid gagging on the acrid tasting liquid as the colourless potion burnt her throat as it drained into her stomach, her subconscious mind briefly wondering how Luna had managed to school her features to look like she had consumed nothing more unpleasant that a glass of water.

"Yuck!" proclaimed Harry, putting words to her own thoughts.

"It is quite disgusting, isn't it?" agreed Luna wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

Wrinkling her nose at a display of manners equal to that of Ron Weasley, Hermione conjured a napkin and dabbed at her lips to remove the excess of the foul tasting substance.

"Now what?" said Harry, voicing the obvious question.

"Now we go to sleep," said Luna as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, and she settled herself on her side lying on the soft earth, pulling her school bag under her head to act as a makeshift pillow.

"But I'm not tired, Luna," said Harry.

Luna's response was muffled by a yawn, forcing her to repeat herself. "Don't worry, Harry. I've already thought of that. I laced the potion with a simple sleeping draught too. Remember your exercises both of you and make sure you focus on that dream, Hermione. If you see it we'll see it." Without another word, Luna closed her eyes, either fast asleep or doing an excellent job of feigning it.

_The former_, Hermione realised, a sudden weariness sweeping across her whole body.

"S'mple yet p'wrful," Harry said...mumbled to be precise, as the potion coursing through his blood began to affect him, his words an obvious homage to the potion Hermione had dosed Crabbe and Goyle with during their second year. He did not so much as lay down, as collapse to the floor, his last slurred words sounding something like _g'night Mione._

Hermione had just enough time to wonder what, if any, magical protections Luna had erected around them to ward against the creatures of the forest before sleep claimed her too.

oOo

An indeterminate amount of time later, some semblance of awareness made itself felt at the edge of Hermione's consciousness, her senses feeling odd, as if somehow detached from her body. She was cognisant of a numbness in her cheek where it was pressed against the leaf strewn ground, the earthy aroma of the moist soil she lay sprawled on, the omnipresent calls of the many beasts and birds that called the forbidden forest home and the sounds of Harry and Luna's even breathing somewhere nearby. She could even sense the dappled sunlight on her skin through the canopy of new leaves overhead, but it was as if all of those sensations were being transferred to her mind over a vast distance; almost like looking up from the bottom of a very deep well.

_Not such a simple sleeping draught then,_ Hermione mused, as she realised that many of the attributes associated with the most common sleeping potions would have rendered them unsuitable for the task at hand. Whilst such potions did indeed induce the _appearance_ of sleep in their recipients, it was a misnomer to call them 'sleeping potions', their effects far better described as unconsciousness. As such they were unable to mimic a persons natural sleep cycle.

It was one of the primary reason that most healers did not routinely prescribe sleeping potions to their patients, as, without being able to progress through both the non-rapid and rapid-eye-movement phases of sleep, the patient would often awaken feeling groggy, lethargic and generally worse than when they had gone to bed.

Curious as always, Hermione surreptitiously attempted to test just how much control she possessed over the rest of her body by attempting to flex her fingers and toes. But although she could detect the feel of the crisp dry leaves on her fingertips, her fingers did not so much as twitch when she directed them to move - she was effectively paralysed.

_Well that settles it,_ she thought. _This is several orders of magnitude more complicated that a 'simple' sleeping draught. Separating the bodies physical need for rest from the brain would be no easy task, but never-the-less necessary if they wanted to enable us to enter REM sleep, _she postulated, knowing that only in that state of slumber were dreams experienced.

_Dreams_. A detached part of her mind latched onto the word, refocusing her mind on the task at hand. Intellectual curiosity would have to wait.

Relaxing her mind as Luna had tutored them, Hermione focused only on the sounds of her own breathing as she pictured the scene from her childhood holiday in her inner eye and waited for any of the tell-tale signs that her body was entering a true state of deep sleep.

And waited...

And waited...

Frustration threatened to bubble up within her. She had read extensively about the transitional stages of sleep and knew exactly what to expect; anything from a sudden, unintentional myoclonic jerk of her muscles, to hallucinations of falling or pulling back from her body.

But Hermione hadn't experienced anything vaguely like that.

_It's not working, _she realised helplessly.

Drawing on her reserves of determination that made her such a driven individual, Hermione screwed her eyes tightly shut in an attempt to shut out the bothersome voices that were her inner doubts and tried to re-focus on her breathing exercises. However, something about her last line of thought caught the attention of Hermione's intellect, her subconscious pushing the realisation to the forefront of her mind _- I'm not paralysed anymore. _

Recognising that she had indeed managed to squeeze her eyes even more tightly shut than before, she quickly tested her other muscles, and was rewarded with a full range of movement from all of her digits and limbs.

_Dammit!_ she cursed silently. _The potion has worn off. I'm wide awake. We failed._

Hermione opened her eyes a crack and squinted into the bright light of the sun now directly overhead. Taking in her surroundings, she was surprised to note both Luna and Harry were also both awake.

"Well that didn't work very well, did it?" she said, not attempting to hide the bitterness in her tone. She pushed herself into a half sitting position propped up on her elbows, thankful that the stiffness she had expected to feel in her limbs, having been sprawled on the hard ground for who knew how long, was absent.

As was often the case, Luna did not appear disheartened. "Oh didn't it?" she asked, her tone pulling Hermione up short.

Luna was sat with her back resting against a fallen log and was tossing a catching a small, perfectly disk shaped rock, into the air repetitively.

Hermione's mind immediately latched on to the fact that something was amiss with the scene, but it took her several moments of following the stones movements with her eyes to perceive what her subconscious had recognised straight away. The stone was rising and falling far slower than the laws of gravity should have permitted and she was certain that there was no sleight of hand at work.

_A reality check,_ she reasoned.

Luna had explained that recognising a dream as exactly that, was not always as clear cut as one might think, and so had introduced her students to the concept of a reality check, whereby it was possible to prove conclusively one way or the other if they had retained consciousness and still succeeded in falling asleep.

Just to be certain Hermione grabbed her school bag where it still lay exactly where she had dropped it and pulled out the first book her hand came across, flipping it's pages open to the last page she had marked. But instead of continuing the explanation of the potion uses of the Chinese Chomping Cabbage she had been reading at breakfast, the text appeared to swim before her eyes, shifting and altering every time she looked anew at it.

"We did it? We're dreaming?" she said, voicing the only logical conclusion following her own reality check; the effect of dreams on written word was well documented as a means of proving that a subject had indeed entered a state of lucid sleep.

Harry shrugged. "Guess so," he replied. "That appeared just before you...er woke up," he finished bobbing the conjoined index and middle fingers of both hands in the universal sign for quotation marks as he uttered his last words.

Hermione followed the line of Harry's gaze to something in the distance that appeared to be the apex of an old fashioned canvas tent, noting that in addition to the failed reality check she had performed, the dream environment they inhabited also displayed one other noticeable deviation from reality. Whilst not quite a monochrome world, colours here seemed to lack luster, the vivid hues of early spring instead appearing muted, dull and washed out.

"Just how you remember it?" asked Luna in obvious reference to the dream they were attempting to access.

"Er, no," replied Hermione truthfully.

Whilst the vista before her did resemble the image she retained of the Forest of Dean in her mind - the trees spaced slightly further apart than in the forbidden forest and the sound of fast running water somewhere nearby. Her parents had not chosen to camp in the forest itself, instead had pitched their tent in a small grassy field that backed onto it. Moreover, their tent had been blue and of the latest nylon and fiberglass construction.

"So where are we then?"

Whilst it was Harry who spoken, Hermione couldn't deny that it was a question she very much wanted an answer to.

"Only one way to find out," said Luna, sounding completely unconcerned as she rose to her feet, dusted her clothes clean, and strode confidently towards the little cotton tent.

With a shrug, Harry gripped Hermione's hand and fell into step behind Luna, an action which proved to be a very strange sensation. Hermione could feel her legs in motion beneath her, and see the scenery passing her by to denote forward locomotion, but she equally _knew_ that she hadn't moved so much as a single stride in any direction - more like their destination was being _pulled_ closer to them.

"Just keep putting one foot in front on the other," called Luna over her shoulder, perhaps sensing her companions disorientation. "You'll get used to it."

As tent drew nearer, Hermione could make out more features of the shelter - several of which, she realised with a jolt, were indeed very familiar to her, having spent several hours trying to figure out how to construct the wretched thing last summer at the quidditch world cup.

"Isn't that?" wondered Harry aloud having obviously made the same mental connections.

"Yes, I think it is," she replied. _Perkins tent,_ she added silently, knowing Harry would 'hear' her.

Quickening their stride they caught up with Luna just as she crested an earthy bank where she paused gazing down at the tent a few meters ahead, its interior lit by the flickering flame of several oil lamps, their unsteady light casting distorted shadows on the taught fabric of the tent.

_Hang on a minute! When did it get dark? _Hermione wondered, turning her head through it's full range of movement as if trying to locate the fiery ball of the sun which had been high overhead when she had 'awoken' barely five minutes ago. Yet sure enough, the only illumination now came from within Perkins tent, the oil lamps within casting their weak light over the now frost covered ground.

"It's quite beautiful, don't you think?" Luna enquired, pulling Hermione from her thoughts, presumably referring to the the beguiling melody that now filled the woodland.

_The cleaners have done their job on you_

_They're hip to it, man, they're in the groove_

_They've hosed you down, you're good as new_

_They're lining up to inspect you_

_O children_

Hermione closed her eyes and felt a tiny glimmer of recognition as she allowed words, sung in a deep baritone, to wash over her. "I've been here before," she whispered as she opened her eyes

Harry nodded in agreement. "Me too...I think."

Unnoticed by either of them as they listened to the haunting melody, Luna had scrambled down the the bank into the slight depression in the land and was now standing holding the fabric of the door open in an obvious invitation to enter.

Hermione hesitated, although for what reason she could not say.

"It's alright, Hermione," said Harry putting words to Hermione's unacknowledged worries. "Who ever is in there won't be able to see us." He turned his gaze on their guide before adding. "Right, Luna?"

Luna nodded emphatically. "You'll be less than a ghost."

Hermione opened her mouth to ask how Harry could be so sure when her bond mate answered her by shared an image from what could only have been from his experiences inside the memory of Tom Riddles diary. A place, Hermione recalled Harry telling her, that he had been all but invisible and without corporeal form, unable to interact with anyone or anything.

Nodding her acceptance of Harry and Luna's assurances, Hermione and Harry slipped and slid their way down the slope before ducking through the open doorway, Luna at their heels.

The air inside was redolent with paraffin, just as she recalled from the previous summer, but, where the tent had once rung with the sounds of laughter and merriment that the Weasley clan had imbued it with, now, the tents only two occupants sat at opposite ends of the magically enlarged space in silence, their despair evident in their mien as only the sounds of the wizarding wireless filled the air.

_Poor old Jim's white as a ghost_

_He's found the answer that we lost_

_We're all weeping now, weeping because_

_There ain't nothing we can do to protect you._

What ever Hermione had expected to see inside it certainly hadn't been this. The two figures, though undeniably thin and world weary in appearance, were still unmistakable; herself and Harry, albeit slightly older. That realisation made her breath catch in her chest. _We've done it, _she realised. _This has to be a memory from the future._

Harry looked much the same age as he had appeared in her vision of his showdown with Voldemort - perhaps in his late teens - and was sitting silently in a wooden chair at the far side of the tent, his eyes riveted to a spot nearer to door where a painfully thin version of herself sat on the wooden steps that led to one of the sleeping areas. The elder Hermione sat dejectedly with her legs drawn up close to her body and her arms wrapped comfortingly around herself but seemed unable to meet the elder Harry's eye, her gaze directed instead towards her boots.

_O children_

_Lift up your voice, lift up your voice_

_Children_

_Rejoice, rejoice_.

Abruptly, as if winning some internal argument, the dream Harry rose and made his way to stand over the other Hermione. After a moments hesitation he held out his hand in an obvious gesture of invitation. Now the elder Hermione did meet his gaze, a wan smile gracing her lips as she accepted Harry's outstretched hand and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet as a chorus of female voices joined the melody, lifting much of the pallor that hung in the air.

_Hey little train! We are all jumping on_

_The train that goes to the Kingdom_

_We're happy, Ma, we're having fun_

_And the train ain't even left the station_

"I think," said Luna softly, breaking the thrall both Harry and Hermione appeared to be held in as they watched their elder selves. "That perhaps now is as good a moment as any to try and assert control over the dream."

Harry shot a glance at Luna which very clearly said; _and how do you propose we do that? _An unspoken question, Luna obviously picked up on, for she added; "Just step into the body of your other self."

_It couldn't be that easy_, _could it?_ Hermione caught herself wondering idly, but quickly pushed the errant thought aside. Over confidence was a weakness, and, as Luna had been very forthright in explaining, learning to control a dream was no easy task.

Taking the lead, Hermione stepped forward attempting to exude a confidence she did not feel, coming to a standstill mere inches from her other self, who was starring into the eyes of Harry's avatar. This close, Hermione noted that her elder self had caught up with Harry somewhat in height, now only needing to lift her chin slightly to look him in the eye.

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione orientated her body to match her elder selves posture and took a half step forward into the unknown. To her delight she felt her body begin to merge with her dream selves, a disorientating sense of falling sweeping over her as their bodies conflated.

After a moment, Hermione realised the process must have finished. Her vision had returned to full colour and she could even sense the emptiness of her elder selves stomach, a wave of melancholy and despair also making it's presence felt.

Before her, Harry regarded her in silence (although she had no way of knowing if _her_ Harry had also successfully entered his dreamself - she had lost awareness of both her bond mate and Luna as soon as she stepped into her avatar). Reaching out both of his hands to her neckline, Harry fumbled with the fastenings of a chain she now noted hung around her neck.

Finally succeeding in his endeavours, Harry released the clasp and placed the chain and the locket that it suspended on a nearby table, her depression leaving her almost the instant the golden locket was no longer in contact with her skin.

Intrigued, Hermione attempted to get a closer look at the locket, her active mind already wondering what kind of magic could so dramatically affect someone's mood, but she found herself pulled away by Harry who was leading her by the hands to the centre of the tent. She attempted to resist but, as she had experienced once before in her vision of Harry's death, she found herself little more than a passenger as the future memory played out before her.

Harry, still clasping both her hands, stopped in the centre of the tent and began to sway gently to the music.

If she had been able, Hermione would have needed to stifle a giggle, the memory of just how self conscious Harry had been during the Yule ball still fresh in her mind. This Harry, however, seemed unconcerned by his appearance (perhaps owing to the fact that they were alone) and continued to move his body to the music until Hermione felt her own body capitulate to Harry's cajoling, reluctantly at first, but with increasing ease with every second that passed. The tight smile on her lips morphing into a lilting laugh as Harry twirled her about playfully, their bodies moving closer as the song slowed and began to fade.

Still softly swaying on the spot, they both pulled back to regard one another in silence, Hermione's eyes dropping to Harry's lips, her thoughts consumed by her overwhelming desire to kiss him._ Oh no you don't, _she commanded as she felt her dream selves body tense and prepare to walk away and was delighted when it responded as if it were her own.

No longer needing to stand on tip toe, she cupped her beloveds cheek and pulled him into a tender kiss, his arms winding around her slight frame in such a manner that she was certain that _her_ Harry was indeed in control of his own avatar, deepening their embrace she lost herself in the moment and knew no more.

oOo

"Hermione." called a voice as if from a great distance. "Hermione, wake up."

Pushing her palms into the leaf strewn earth all around her, Hermione pushed herself bolt upright making the room spin around her dizzyingly. No, not a room, she realised, feeling deeply disorientated that her palms had pushed, not against the soft mattress of her four poster in Gryffindor tower, but instead against an unyielding, dirt cover ground.

Pushing the heel of her palm into her temple in an attempt to steady her senses, Hermione tentatively opened her eyes to see that she was indeed sitting on the outskirts of a dense forest._ What am I doing here_, she wondered for all of a second before her memories returned in a torrent.

_The dream. The tent. The locket!_

"Are you okay, Hermione?" the voice she now recognised a belonging to Luna Lovegood asked.

_I'm fine,_ had been Hermione's intended reply, but her throat felt like it was full of sand and only a scratchy rasp issued from her lips. Balling her fist, Hermione coughed into it to clear her throat. "I'm fine," she repeated. "How's Harry."

"I'm just going to wake him now. Don't try and stand up," she counselled.

Hermione, however, was only half listening, her brow furrowed in concentration as her mind furiously went to work on the new information that had come to light:

It was obvious, even from the snippet of memory that they had been able to access, that this was not a happy future. They had both looked so drawn, the heavy winter clothes they had been wearing doing little to disguise the dark circles under both of their eyes and how thin they had become. And what were they doing apparently living alone in a tent? Hermione filled those questions away for later consideration; right now she simply did not have enough information to do anything more than speculate.

Although also based on nothing more than her own instincts, she also believed that the locket was important..._somehow_, but the specific details of how and why remained tantalizing out of reach; at least for now. If she was not mistaken, she had successfully taken control of her dream counterpart and as soon as she could debrief with Luna she intended to try again. The information that would prevent Harry's death was within her - she could feel it – and she was determined to go to any lengths necessary to retrieve it.

_A/M - Phew. That chapter was a stubborn one, so I'm very happy to finally get it uploaded and out into the big wide world so I can hear what you all think of it._

_Whilst it has been frustrating to write in many ways (this is version number three of this particular chapter) I did enjoy the events that unfolded. _

_I've been wanting to write something revolving around Harry and Hermione's dance in Deathly Hallows part I, and although I don't normally like to mix my movie canon with the books, it was just too sweet a moment to ignore – plus it let me put Hermione on the trail of the horcruxes without revealing what they are to her just yet. Whilst I'm on the subject I must thank Romantic silence who wrote a beautiful homage to the scene in his brilliant one-shot 'all is well' and I read that several times to inspire my own take on the moment. I should also thank Daniel and Emma. I've watched the scene on repeat and there are some beautiful but subtle moments that show how far they have come in their craft. And to complete the list of thanks, Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds to whom all the lyrics quoted in this chapter belong. _

_Till next time peeps._

_Wings _

_ps – A hundred points to the first person who spots my (very blatant) reference to a '90's TV show. _


	15. Chapter 15 Lost and Found

_**A/N **__- For those of you reading multiple fics, there is a recap of the story so far bellow my author musings (sounds much better than author notes, right?) at the bottom of this chapter to help you remember exactly what has occurred so far._

_I'm not even going to bother apologising for the delay in getting this chapter uploaded guys. Just know that I have been working really hard on it as I wanted to get it just right - I hope I have succeeded._

_I keep checking the mail, but as I'm still not receiving any royalty checks I guess I don't own Potter. _

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Fifteen - Lost and Found<strong>

The opulent drawing room of Sirius' ancestral home lapsed into a pensive silence as Hermione and Harry concluded the tale of their experiences from their shared dream vision. As out of context as the single vision undoubtedly was, it was clear from the expressions of the order members scattered around the room that they had drawn many of the same conclusions that Harry, Hermione, Luna and Ron had made during their own discussions over the course of the afternoon.

The four students, having portkeyed to Grimmauld Place that evening, sat side-by-side along one time worn leather couch, opposite the ornate fireplace which dominated the grand room. Two glass cabinets, filled no doubt with countless Black family heirlooms, flanked it on either side.

To their left, sat Albus Dumbledore, backlit by the last rays of evening sunshine pouring through the large sash window behind him. If it were not for the fires flickering orange glow, his aged features would have been completely shrouded in shadow. As it was, the half of his face which was illuminated by the crackling fire appeared drawn and pale. The one piercing blue eye visible, hooded by his wispy brows which were pinched together in an expression Hermione read as worry.

Positioned opposite the headmaster were the only other members of the order present at such short notice - Remus Lupin and Sirius Black - their demeanours conveying their emotions just as readily as their former headmasters.

Although the later had not so much as moved an inch from his relaxed position in his wing backed arm chair, his booted feet still crossed at the ankles and resting on the small coffee table of darkest ebony wood before him, Hermione felt she now knew Harry's godfather well enough to know that his display of nonchalance was undoubtedly forced. He was smoothing the his neatly trimmed moustache between his thumb and forefinger in a manner she had come to associate with such times when Sirius was attempting to mask his concerns from his godson and appear completely at ease - an act she knew fooled neither herself or Harry.

In contrast, the mien of their former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher could only be described as open. His heart worn firmly on the sleeve of his frayed and tattered attire, and, if Hermione was any judge of such things, he too was obviously very troubled by what he had heard. He had risen from his own arm chair as soon as Harry and Hermione had concluded their recollections and was now standing with his back to his oldest school friend facing the fireplace, his cinnamon eyes gazing without focus into the dancing flames. His head was bowed to rest on his forearm which in turn lay atop the mantel piece giving him a stooped appearance, his greying hair falling over his face and covering half of his scarred features from view.

"And we are quite sure that this is a vision of the future?" he asked at length, his eyes still riveted on the embers of the fire.

"Positive, Professor Lupin," replied Luna without hesitation, forgetting, in her eagerness to answer, to address their former teacher by his given name as he had requested on multiple occasions. "A dream recollection has a very distinct aura," she explained patiently. "I'm convinced this was a memory of a future event."

"I can't see how it could have been anything else, Remus," chimed in Harry. "But it wasn't a happy place I can tell you."

"And that is precisely what concerns me, Harry," said Remus solemnly. "In the space of just a few short years, it would appear that both yourself and Hermione are forced to go into hiding."

Hermione nodded slowly to signify her agreement. For whilst it was true that, other than their own observations of the dream (namely their poor physical condition, dirtied clothing and the ache of hunger in their stomachs), they had no hard evidence to support that theory, Hermione _knew_ it to be the truth.

The words 'war weary' had occurred to her immediately upon laying eyes on their elder selves, and, although usually a stickler for proof, for tangible facts, Hermione had, in the last few weeks, learnt to trust in her own instincts; instincts which were now all but screaming at her that a second wizarding war had indeed occurred - _would_ occur if they couldn't stop it - in the future.

"It's that locket that gives me the heeby jeebies," said Ron, steering the conversation back to what the teens had deduced was perhaps the most important piece of new information. "It sounded horrible."

_Horrible_. Hermione considered the word and knew it simply could not convey the complete sense of melancholia she had experienced whilst the lockets chain had hung like a millstone around her neck. She had since described the experience as being akin to being surrounded by a dozen dementors, each, not only sucking any happiness straight out of her, but also amplifying every bad thought, every bad experience she had ever had, whilst all the while whispering a constant stream of self doubt and recriminations in a voice that only she could hear. Even the mere memory turned her skin to goose flesh as she suppressed a shiver as the taunting words of the voice replayed in her mind.

Even Harry, who had only handled the locket for the briefest of moments also spoke of a feeling of deepest despair chilling him from his insides out, and it was this, as much as her own experiences which had convinced her that the object was full of the darkest magic. But as what they were doing in the possession of such a obviously dark item, why they were actively choosing to wear it on their persons when it instilled such desperate thoughts in the wearer and why they had not destroyed it were all questions she did not have an answer to.

"Well Moony," put in Sirius, directing his statement to his best friends back. "Dark magic is very much your area of expertise...any thoughts?"

Remus pushed himself up from the fireplace and turned to regard his fellow marauder who was still feigning an untroubled demeanour. "Actually, my forte has always been the study of magical magical creatures. This is far more up Alastor's street than mine."

It made sense, Hermione noted. Alastor Moody, having spent a life time fighting dark wizards as a ministry auror, would no doubt have a great deal of experience in dealing with such objects; an opinion she voiced aloud.

"No," interrupted Sirius abruptly, his façade of nonchalance slipping away. "We're not going to Moody with this."

Hermione felt her right eyebrow arch towards the ceiling as she assimilated the vehemence of Sirius' words and their obvious connotations._ He doesn't trust Mad _Eye, she realised. At exactly that same moment, Sirius confirmed her reasoning by saying as much aloud.

"B-but Mad Eye has done nothing but help me this year," spluttered Harry in obvious confusion.

It was a fair point. Professor Moody, whilst unquestionably 'madder than a box of chocolate frogs' as Ron had once rather colourfully phrased it, had done nothing but look out for Harry during his time at their teacher.

"Exactly," retorted Sirius, pushing himself upright and letting his feet drop loudly to the floor. "I've never know the miserly old curmudgeon take a shine to _anyone_, much less a kid - no offence pup," he added with a sincere glance towards his godson as he stood and began to pace along the wall which featured a tapestry of the complete Black family tree, which, Hermione noted, he studiously avoided looking at - several scorch marks all that denoted that he had ever existed. "It just doesn't jibe with what I know of the man."

No one spoke as Sirius' long strides devoured the space quickly. "He tells you how to get past the dragon," he said as he reached the sash window, ticking off the point on his index finger. "Then, deals with that priggish bully, Malfoy and his cronies for you," his middle finger joining his first as he began his circuit back towards the door to the landing. "And," he added, raising his right index finger in a gesture of eureka, "to top it all off he gives you the gillyweed to get through the second task!"

Involuntarily, Hermione felt her other brow quirk towards her hair line in surprise before both fell back into a frown of confusion.

"But Dobby gave me the gillyweed, Sirius," replied Harry voicing Hermione's own line of thought, his expression a mirror of her own.

Sirius stopped pacing and leant on the back of the chair he had vacated. "Yeah. I wondered about that too," he replied cryptically. "It's not exactly common knowledge for a house elf to possess is it? I mean, wizards and witches have jealously guarded their secrets from other magical races for centuries have they not?"

Punctuating his point he stole a glance toward Hermione who nodded her head once, unable to refute the fact. "Creatures of 'near human intelligence'," she said falteringly, disgust colouring her tone as her eidetic memory recalled the exact words the Ministry of Magic employed to describe, amongst others, House Elves, Centaurs and Goblins. "Are not permitted to either study magic nor wield a wand."

"Exactly," he said apparently satisfied with her response, turning away from the group to resume his pacing, every eye in the room tracing his movements. "So how does a lowly House Elf," he wondered aloud. "Especially one who had been treated worse than a slave for most of his life come to know about the properties of gillyweed?"

Apparently rhetorical, Sirius continued without pausing for breath. "So I asked him. And he told me that he had overheard Mad Eye talking with Professor McGonagall. Wondering if any of the champions would think to use gillyweed?"

"Hang on," said Hermione in a tone that suggested she felt like she was missing something obvious. "You said Professor Moody gave Harry the plant, but if Dobby just overheard - "

" - Don't you get it?" Sirius retorted sharply. "I thought you were supposed to be sma ..." but whatever his words had intended to be died on his lips as Remus, his brown eyes flashing warningly, stepped forward and grasped both of his shoulders, a subtle shake of his head silencing Sirius as he steered him back towards his empty seat.

"I'm sorry Hermione," Sirius offered a moment later having taken a cleansing breath as he collapsed into his seat, his elbows now pressed against his thighs and his hands clasped together between his knees to support himself as he leant forward, his eyes locking imploringly on each of the teens before him. "I just don't trust the man and the sooner you are all on your guard around him the better," he explained. "Dobby didn't _just_ overhear his conversation with Minerva; he had been summoned. Moody knew he was coming, and what with that magical eye of his he should have known their conversation was no longer private. He wanted Dobby to overhear him because he knew he would go straight to Harry with a way to get past the second task."

Hermione's eye narrowed in consideration. She couldn't deny that it was a logical argument - but it just didn't make any sense. If the professor meant Harry harm then why had he been helping him to succeed during the tri-wizard tournament? On the other hand, if the Defence teacher truly had taken a shine to Harry, why was he being so covert in rendering his assistance?

Biting of her lower lip in concentration, she put her intellect to work, attempting to pull all of the strands of evidence together - everything that had happened since Harry's name had come out of the Goblet of Fire last autumn. After a few moments of quite contemplation she let out a frustrated sigh, unable to discern any obvious patterns - there were just still far too many unknowns to draw any meaningful conclusion so she filed the information away for later consideration.

"I want you to promise me - all of you," he added, his grey eyes resting briefly on each of the youngsters before him. " - that you'll be on your guard around him. Report anything..._unusual_ to me or one of the other order members immediately."

Hermione, as did her schoolmates, nodded her head in agreement, and just managed to keep the wry grin from her lips as Sirius faltered over the wording of his last statement. Possibly, she mused, because a great deal of what occurred in the ex-aurors classes could be considered unusual to say the least.

"No problem, Sirius," shrugged Ron, breaking the uncomfortable silence that threatened to engulf the room. "We'll just find someone else who can figure out the locket for us."

"There will be no need for that, Mr Weasley," came the voice of Albus Dumbledore from his darkening corner of the room, the fiery ball of the sun now retreating behind the terraced buildings at his back. "I fear I know exactly what the locket may prove to be."

Unbidden, Hermione felt herself lean forward slightly, a posture she noted in her peripheral vision, that was mimicked by all in the room. Save for Luna that was; the blond instead playing distractedly with the ends of her straggly hair.

"If I am correct," began Dumbledore, taking the silence in the room as an invitation to continue. "The locket you have described is something known as a Horcrux."

_Horcrux_. The single word, both alien and conversely intimately familiar at the same time reverberated through Hermione's mind leaving her with a distinct feeling of unease. A feeling which had nothing to do with the now all to common feeling that details she believed were locked inside her mind remained stubbornly blank.

"_A what_?" The question had come, not from one of the students, but from their former teacher, Remus Lupin.

A mirthless chuckle escaped Dumbledore's lips. "No. I do not suppose you would have heard of such a thing, Remus. It is the darkest of magic - almost too terrible to comprehend," he explained, pausing as he removed his half moon glasses to massage his eyes with a thumb and forefinger. Slipping his spectacles back onto his crooked nose, he took a breath as if stealing himself and continued; "A Horcrux is a vessel used to conceal and protect a piece of one's soul."

A thousand questions formed instantly in Hermione's mind, all vying for her undivided attention, several of which, she sensed, originated in her bond mates consciousness instead of her own. But amongst the countless new lines of enquiry that occupied her thoughts, one question in particular kept floating to the surface of her mind; a question, in truth, she did not wish an answer to, her normally boundless intellectual curiosity shying away from something that the logical part of her told her was bad news.

Still, however much she wished she could avoid ever thinking about the golden pendant again, she could not ignore the sensation that something deep inside her, something she could not quantify, _needed_ the answer to that question; an answer she felt certain she would need to know if she wished to save Harry from his fate.

"And how does one create such a vessel, Sir?" she asked, hating herself even as the words issued into the air.

Dumbledore nodded as if recognition of her own silent conflict. "Murder, Miss Granger," he replied simply, his voice low. "The act of taking a life tears the soul apart. A wizard who successfully creates such an object to store that piece of their tainted soul would effectively become immortal, for even if one's body were attacked and destroyed, one cannot die. The part of the soul that remained protected and undamaged would anchor one's existence to this mortal coil...of course, existence in such a form would be..."

"..._mere shadow and vapour_," interjected Harry, his voice conveying his disbelief as he repeated the words he had heard nearly four years previously. "Voldemort?"

Dumbledore nodded wearily. "Voldemort," he agreed. "This is I believe the means in which he has managed to survive the death of his physical form."

"So, the locket contained a piece of Voldemorts soul?" asked Hermione slowly, thinking aloud. "A piece he ripped form him by killing someone?"

Again Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed. Although I had hoped - perhaps naively," he added, "that he had created only one."

"Whoa, whoa," exclaimed Sirius raising his hands in a gesture that in another setting could have signified his surrender. "You mean he's created more of these..._Horcruxes_?" he asked incredulously, stumbling slightly over both the pronunciation and, Hermione presumed, the concept of plural anchors to life.

"At least one other," agreed Dumbledore solemnly. "One which mercifully we have Harry to thank for it's destruction."

Every eye in the room turned towards the raven haired teen who regarded each of them blankly in obvious bewilderment, but a piece of the mental jigsaw fell into place in Hermione's mind and her eyes widened in surprise as she exclaimed; "The diary!"

A thin smile did now grace the headmasters lips. "Yes, Miss Granger. Tom Riddles Diary."

"The diary was a - a Horcrux? A part of Voldemort's soul?"

"I believe so, yes," said Dumbledore in answer to Harry's question. "You will remember that when I promised you that I would keep no more secrets from you, Harry, that I also told you that anything beyond what I divulged that day would be merely speculation on my part?" the ancient wizards enquiry eliciting a small nod of agreement. "Well, when you handed me that diary two years ago I received what I considered to be evidence that Voldemort had indeed split his soul and preserved it within the pages of that book. I had little proof of course, but no mere memory could have started to act and think for itself in such a manner. Nor could it have sapped the life out of the girl into whose hands it had fallen..."

Hermione stole a glance towards Ron who had paled at the mention of his younger sisters near death experience and she offered him a reassuring smile which he returned, albeit weakly.

"...No, something more sinister had lived inside that book. A fragment of soul, I was almost sure of it. The diary had been a Horcrux, but this raised as many questions as it answered. You see there could be no doubt that Voldemort had wanted his diary read. Wanted the piece of his soul to inhabit or possess someone else, so that Slytherin's monster would be unleashed again..."

"And that's why you believe the locket was also a Horcrux?" asked Hermione, understanding blooming in her brown eyes. "Because it was speaking to me? Trying to control me just like it did Ginny?"

Dumbledore lapsed into a brief silence, apparently considering Hermione's questions. "Essentially correct," he agreed after a time. "But I would amend your last statement to 'trying to _influence_ you'. The locket possessed no direct link to you in the way in which the diary could feed from the pieces of her heart and soul that young Ginny Weasley poured onto its pages."

"Something doesn't fit here," mused Remus who had retaken his seat. "If a Horcrux is intended to protect a fragment of soul from harm why place it in a position whereby it could be destroyed? Why not hide it away somewhere safe?"

"Precisely," exclaimed Dumbledore bounding to his feet with far more vigour than a man of his advanced age had any right to. "It was Voldemort's almost careless disregard for his Horcrux that convinced me that he must have made - or had been planning to make - more Horcruxes."

"Just hang on a minute," interjected Sirius running his palm over his face from temple to chin. "How can we be sure? Surely there must be a dozen things that could have caused what Hermione and Harry described feeling?"

"You are of course, quite right Sirius," acceded the headmaster, cupping his bearded chin thoughtfully. "No doubt there are plenty of objects in our world infested with dark magic that could alter a persons mood to the point of depression - I dare say that some of the, shall we say, less reputable dealers, in Knockturn Alley, posses many such items."

Hermione gave a mental nod as an image of a card propped next to a magnificent necklace of pearls appeared in Hermione's mind from Harry's memories of his accidental visit to _Borgins and Burkes_ in Knockturn Alley two years previously. It read; _Caution: Do not touch. Cursed - has claimed the lives of __nineteen muggle owners to date._ She knew a wizard might be able to resist the curse upon the necklace for a short while, but no doubt a muggle would be driven quite mad by such dark magic and driven to suicide.

"For now," continued Dumbledore, "and without further knowledge, we can only postulate."

Now Hermione gave a physical nod as she accepted the headmasters words. _We need to go back_, she thought, only noting with surprise that she must have spoken those words aloud as every pair of eyes in the room swung towards her. "I mean, we need to try again," she clarified. "I _know_ there is more going on that we have seen so far."

Harry nodded his head in agreement as he took his bond mates hand. "It only felt like we were there for a few minutes, Sir," he said addressing Dumbledore directly. "And we only managed to take control in the last few moments. We've got to try again. There has to be more we can learn."

The wizened wizard did not answer straight away, instead he locked his piercing gaze on Luna Lovegood who was sitting at the far end of the couch, still twirling a strand of her dirty blonde hair through her fingers distractedly, as if the topic of conversation could not hold her attention.. "That will depend on your instructors recommendation, Harry."

Luna's silvery eyes snapped into focus as she realised she was being addressed directly. "Sorry? Did you say something, professor?"

Dumbledore's beard twitched into a smile indicating his amusement. "I wondered, Miss Lovegood, how long you felt it would be prudent to wait before Miss Granger and Mr Potter here attempt to try again?"

Luna's lips thinned shifting her gaze to some unseeing point as if trying to recall pertinent information. "By the weekend I should think," she replied evenly a moment later. "It takes a great deal of magical..."

But her conclusion was rendered mute as Harry cut in. "But - " he protested, but was halted by Dumbledore's outstretched hand demanding silence; something which promptly fell.

"There will be no debate, Harry," commanded the headmaster retaking his seat and locking his sapphire eyes with Harry's. "Your safety and that of your bondmate remains my primary concern, and, until your instructor says it is safe to proceed, I ask you both to accept that fact."

Although only mentioned in passing, Hermione nodded her head in silent acceptance of the headmasters conditions but noted that Harry had not signified his agreement having once more lapsed into silence wearing an expression she had inwardly termed his 'there has to be a way' look.

"We need to know more, right? he said aloud a moment later, his words elongated in a manner Hermione recognised from classes when Harry gave what he thought to be an obvious answer that no one else had considered. "But we can't go back yet," he concluded shooting a quick glance towards his Ravenclaw schoolmate. "Well...what if there was another way?"

Dumbledore held out both of his palms and tipped his head forward slightly in a gesture that very clear said; '_I'm all ears'_.

Hermione did not need to share a bond with Harry to understand what was wrong when he did not immediately accept the headmasters invitation to continue. His eyes had shifted to focus on a small patch of floor, a mannerism Hermione recognised from such times that Harry believed he was about to make a stupid suggestion. But, knowing as she did, that Harry was both capable of making great leaps of intuition and had an uncanny knack of being correct, she gave his had a reassuring squeeze, simultaneously stretching a tendril of her thoughts out to him in encouragement.

Apparently fortified, Harry took a breath and said. "Well...thinking about the diary again got me wondering. When Riddle took me into his memory I was able to experience things that must have been beyond the realms of his own experiences..." he explained, his voice threatening to trail away to nothing, as if the very act of speaking his line of reasoning aloud had convinced him of it foolishness.

"Please," prompted Dumbledore thoughtfully. "Continue."

Harry nodded and acquiesced. "I saw what headmaster Dippet was doing in his office before Riddle even came in."

Dumbledore's ever present twinkle appeared to go into overdrive. "That was very observant of you, Harry," he said at length. "And you are correct. A wizards very thoughts are imbued with magic. With the correct tools we may be able to amplify things that could not be directly observed during your dream recollections."

"Your pensieve," stated Hermione, suggesting the only magical device she believe capable of fulfilling that role.

"Quite so," Dumbledore agreed cheerfully, before reaching into his robes and removing a familiar box in which he had transported his magically shrunken pensieve to the first order meeting the previous month in the kitchens of Hogwarts. "I have taken to carrying it most places with me in recent weeks," explained the headmaster as he countered the charm and the box ballooned to it's full size. "One never knows when a new line of reasoning will present itself."

Swinging the lid open soundlessly on its hinges, the professor first removed the basin-like pensieve with a wave of his wand, settling it on the coffee table before him, before he extracted an empty vial from one corner of the crate which he offered to Hermione. "I presume you know how to extract the required memory?" he enquired.

"Yes, sir," she replied as she took the proffered glass container. She had never attempted the feat herself, but, having read about, it she knew that it was a simple matter of thinking about the desired memory whilst holding the tip of their wand against her temple.

A moment later, and having followed those recalled instructions, Hermione withdrew her wand tip, a strand of a strange silvery substance clinging to it, which she promptly deposited in the vial before handing it back across the table to Dumbledore.

"Yes," he declared, holding the contents to the light. "This should do nicely," and he tipped the contents into the bowl and scooted forwards in his chair placing one hand on the coffee table each side of the pensieve. "Gather round," he instructed. "I believe that entering the memory will prove more beneficial."

"Enter the memory?" blurted Ron. "Is that even possible?"

"Quite possible, Ron," confirmed Sirius. "We'll all need to be in physical contact with one another," he instructed, rising from his seat and grasping Remus' right hand.

Following his lead, a few moments later, all six assembled members of the order stood hand-in-hand in a rough semi-circle around the coffee table looking expectantly into the swirling contents of the pensieve.

"Hold tight," commanded Dumbledore as he took hold of Harry's and Sirius' hands respectively to complete the circle and without another word plunged his head into the bowl.

Hermione felt the drawing room lurch around her as she and her companions tipped forward and into an icy blackness which surrounded her on all sides. She felt like she was falling but she had no point of reference, her eyes straining in vain in the darkness, failing to pick out even the forms of Harry and Luna she could feel pressed against her mere inches away on either side.

As if someone had suddenly turned on a light switch, Hermione found herself standing once more in a familiar woodland surrounded by her six fellow order members.

"We're back," announced Luna happily as she let Hermione's hand drop from her own, a motion Hermione saw mirrored by the rest of the circle, leaving only Harry and Hermione and Luna and Ron holding hands - although the redhead appeared to be completely oblivious to that fact as his head swivelled this way and that as he took in the vista before him.

"Bloody hell," he whispered, only being saved a rebuke for his bad language from Hermione by Luna softly clearing her throat, lifting their conjoined hands to draw Ron's attention to that fact. "Bloody hell!" he repeated with wide eyes as he promptly dropped Luna's hand to her side, the tops of his ears colouring a deep shade of scarlet in embarrassment.

Clearing his own throat in a manner Hermione believed to be motivated in equals parts by both an attempt to mask his amusement at the teenagers antics and to drawn their attention, Dumbledore indicated a pinprick of light in the distance which the group silently acknowledge, before picking their way through the undergrowth towards it.

The scene was exactly as Hermione recalled it - but then she supposed, this was her memory. It was once again after nightfall and a slight dusting of fresh snow covered the leaf strewn forest floor, a fragment of her mind drawing her attention to the fact that none of them were leaving any footprints as they purposefully moved across the ground.

_Oh no_, thought Hermione as they drew nearer, the haunting melody once more carrying through the chill air, with it a realisation that their counterparts would dancing once again in the confines of the tent._ I don't want everyone to see that_, she thought in borderline panic. Neither she nor Harry had made any mention of their dance or subsequent embrace during their explanations to the order - it was a private moment. One they had silently agreed to keep as such. _It's bad enough Luna probably saw! _although their instructor had assured both Hermione and Harry that she had excused her from the tent the moment they had combined with their elder avatars.

As if in response to her inner fears, Dumbledore, rather than entering the tent, brought the group to a halt at the top of the embankment overlooking it. "I believe someone is coming out," he said, pointing an age spotted hand towards the mouth of the tent.

Sure enough, Hermione noted with gratitude, the music within the tent had died away and a lone figure had dropped cross-legged to the floor in the doorway - _Harry_.

"Merlin," whispered Sirius in shock as opposed to any desire to not be overheard, which, Hermione knew from her first visit here, was impossible. "You're so thin."

Harry shrugged as he regarded his older self shivering in the half light. "I've got like four jumpers on too," he replied.

The group watched in silence as the other Harry kept watch into the dead of night. After what felt like several hours, Hermione noted a strange distortion at the periphery of her vision._ No, not my vision_, she realised on the fourth such occurrence of the phenomena. _The memory is distorting_, but her thoughts were interrupted by Harry:

"Is everyone else seeing this?" he asked in obvious reference to the phenomena. "My eyes keep feeling like they are loosing focus."

"No, Harry," replied Dumbledore evenly. "If I am not mistaken, Miss Granger, who's memory this is of course, has fallen asleep inside the tent. As such, I would expect her awareness of her surroundings to continue to diminish - we may learn little else from this exercise."

But even as the headmaster concluded his sentence, Remus pointed towards something in the forest, his voice raised in alarm. "What's that?"

A bright silver light had appeared directly opposite the tents entrance and was drifting towards the dozing form of the other Harry, it's brilliant light almost too blinding to look at directly.

"It's a Patronus!" exclaimed Hermione as the source of the light stepped out from behind a great oak.

"That's not any old Patronus," replied Sirius. "It's Lily," he declared triumphantly in chorus with Remus who's voice joined his fellow marauders.

"Wha-? spluttered Harry. "My Mum? B-but how?" he asked as the silver doe stepped carefully towards the other Harry who appeared transfixed by the elegant creature before him.

"I don't know, pup," confessed Sirius. "But I'd recognised that Patronus anywhere. Like I told you, Lily and your father were made for each other," he concluded, in what Hermione believed must have been a reference to the form James Potter's animagus had taken.

As he spoke, the doe turned and began to glide away from the tent. Harry - the other Harry - who appeared briefly torn as to whether to follow, quickly stole after it a moment later, disappearing into the velvety blackness of the forest.

_No, not disappearing_, a detached part of Hermione's mind registered even as she and Harry attempted to follow their quarry. _Dissolving_.

Sure enough, everything around the group appeared to be dissolving around them. Hermione could see that she was still solid and that Harry and the rest of the group were too, but everything else, the trees, the tent, even the forest floor was dissolving into swirling darkness lending a great deal of weight to Dumbledore's theory.

"Well that's that then," commented Remus, standing in what appeared to be mid-air, nothing but black smoke surrounding him on all sides.

Dumbledore's lips parted as if to voice his agreement when to his, and everyone else's, obvious surprise the forest returned - although they were now very clearly standing somewhere else, the edges of the vision now hazy, like looking through a fogged up window.

The doe had disappeared, only the light from the tip of the other Harry's wand now providing any illumination in the oppressive darkness of the forest which seemed to press in on them from all sides. He was standing near an icy pond, his wand held high over his head, directing it's beam of light into the depths where it glinted off something metallic.

Sirius, positioned closest, covered the distance in a few long strides and peered into the depths. "Merlin!" he exclaimed for the second time that evening as the memory blackened again. "I swear it was the sword of Gryffindor," he declared in disbelief.

No one had time to comment on his proclamation however, as the memory stuttered back into existence to reveal Harry standing in the same spot wearing nothing but his underwear and a golden locket around his neck - his malnourished frame now clear for all to see.

"Is this it?" Sirius wanted to know, striding over to where the elder Harry stood poised at the edge of the frozen body of water and pointing at the jewel encrusted locket resting on his godsons chest.

Hermione was about to reply in the affirmative when Ron's incredulous voice cut across her. "Are - you - mental?"

He was pointing, slack jawed, towards the other Harry who was lowering himself into the obviously freezing waters (as Hermione had already surmised he must have been planning to do courtesy of his state of undress). Presumably, she had mused, to retrieve the sword that Sirius had said was trapped beneath the ice.

The swirling blackness returned once more and when the memory finally coalesced again, Hermione was certain it would be for the last time. It was now like observing the scene through thick fog, the memory offering only brief snatches of images almost too jumbled to comprehend:

Ron standing over a soaking wet and obviously freezing Harry carrying the sword of Gryffindor.

A half second glimpse of Harry, now clothed once more, yelling at Ron to 'Stab it' as he held the locket open against a rock.

A weirdly distorted image of herself and Harry locked in a passionate embrace which made both her cheeks redden and the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end for reasons she could not comprehend.

A flash of silver as Ron plunged the sword into the locket, and agonized scream renting through the air as the scene dissolved for what Hermione knew would be the last time.

_Come on!_ she thought wildly, as if she could force her memory to remain solid a moment longer by sheer force of will, which, to her surprise and delight, it did. A final voice - Ron's - still audible as the darkness became omnipresent uttered just four words; "_One Horcrux down, mate_."

Once again Hermione experienced the brief sensation of movement (upwards this time) without being able to confirm that fact visually, before he feet landed heavily on the plush carpet of Number Twelves drawing room. She let out a straggled yelp as back of her knees bumped into the couch behind overbalanced her and sending her sprawling onto the leather cushions, Harry landing inelegantly next to her having been pulled down by their still conjoined hands.

To her left, Albus Dumbledore sat, or more accurately collapsed into his arm chair looking older and wearier than ever before, muttering softly to himself as he starred into the shimmering surface of the pensieve. Only three words were spoken loud enough for Hermione to make out clearly; "More than two," he said with a disbelieving shake of his head.

Remus too wore a deeply troubled expressions, but, and to her extreme surprise, Sirius was beaming - an expression Hermione felt certain was not faked as it had been earlier that same evening.

He sidestepped around the coffee table and, in three long strides, closed the space between himself and the glass cabinet closest to the now completely darkened vista beyond the sash window, the street lights outside offering only a feeble orange glow. Sirius clasped both of the handles and swung open the door.

Intrigued, Hermione leant forward to get a better look. The cabinet was filled with pristine silver daggers, several elegant boxes made of various precious metals, an ornate but empty crystal bottle with a large opal set into a stopper, and an item that made Hermione's breath catch in her chest.

Winding his fingers around it's chain, Sirius pulled out the object, a look of triumph etched on his features. "One Horcrux down, mate," he declared in a fair approximation of Ron's timbre and inflection, the locket containing a piece of Voldemort's soul swinging on it's chain as he held it aloft like a trophy.

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><p><em><strong>AM**__ - So there we go. They know about the Horcruxes - now they just need to figure out how many there are (no Slughorn memory in this as yet), find them and destroy them. Although that will definitely take up a portion of the remainder of the story, I can promise that it will not become another camping trip like Deathly Hallows turned into. _

_I'd like to say a quick thank you to fellow fan fiction writer alchymie, who gave me the idea that magical memories could record more details that were perhaps witnessed first hand - it made this chapter far more interesting (it was originally just another Luna Lesson) and I implore you (if you have not already checked them out), please do. Simply divine storytelling!_

_Obviously I've been able to pick and choose the pieces of canon I wanted the order to see by having the memory flit in and out, but I didn't want Harry and Hermione's relationship to be screwed up by the knowledge that they were not together in the future, or to confuse matters with the 'like a sister' line. Some people might call that a cop out, but what'cha gonna do? _:p

_Till next time peeps._

_Wings._


	16. Chapter 16 Little King

_**A/N **__- For those of you reading multiple fics, there is a recap of the story so far bellow my author musings (sounds much better than author notes, right?) at the bottom of this chapter to help you remember exactly what has occurred so far._

_Each of the last three chapters have proven to be very difficult to write – this one proving the most troublesome of all. I can only hope that its reluctance to go onto the page has not resulted in a noticeable drop off in quality. Ho hum, I'm sure you'll let me know if that's the case. _

_I may be British and I may also leave gaping plot holes but I ain't no JK. Potter does not belong to me. _

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><p><strong>Chapter Sixteen – Little King<strong>

"Merlin's saggy left - "

" - _Ronald!_"

Although silenced by Hermione's reprimand, Ron's blue eyes remained wide as he stared at the reason for his outburst. His crass statement, although lacking in many regards, did at least accurately surmise the mood of the assembled order members.

The discovery of the locket hidden, quite literally, in plain sight, had left most of the group in a dumbfounded silence, every pair of eyes riveted to locket -_ the Horcrux_, Hermione corrected herself - spinning gently on it's axis, held aloft in Sirius's outstretched hand.

It was exactly as she recalled it from her vision: An oval of gold, perhaps an inch and a half in length from top to bottom, adorned with an emerald encrusted serpentine styled letter 'S' which glittered as it picked up the light of the flickering fire - the only source of illumination in the drawing room now that the sun had disappeared bellow the horizon.

Familiar too was the sensation of deep cold permeating her insides; an esthesis her rational mind attributed as being purely psychosomatic in nature. After all, the Horcrux had been in the room all evening, every time she had visited Sirius' home in fact, yet only now did it feel as if the temperature had fallen by several degrees.

_What is a piece of Voldemort's soul doing in Sirius' home? _she wondered as a torrent of other questions flooded her mind, each clamouring for her full attention as she regarded the locket in a mesmerized silence.

However, those questions were to go unasked as, to her right, the panelled door to the hallway swung open violently, abruptly breaking the stunned silence that had fallen over the plush drawing room as it crashed loudly on it's hinges. Turning her head towards the sound, Hermione squinted against the too bright light of the hallway and was able to make out the unmistakable silhouette of an House-elf - _Dobby_, she presumed - standing backlit in the rectangle of light.

_No, not Dobby,_ she realised almost before that first thought had fully coalesced in her mind, a stooped and wrinkled House-elf she had never heretofore laid eyes on shuffled into their mists, it's murky blue eyes transfixed on Sirius.

"Master Regulus's locket!" croaked the elf angrily as it stole across the room at a pace that belied it's elderly frame, one withered arm pointed directly to the locket which still dangled from it's chain in Sirius' raised hand.

Hermione recalled that Sirius had indeed mentioned that an elderly House-elf, one who had once belonged to his mother, also resided at Number Twelve. Presumably the very same elf who had just barged into their private meeting_ - Kreacher_, her eidetic memory offered a heartbeat later.

In subjective human terms, Kreacher appeared to be at least one hundred years old. Great tufts of white hair grew from his overgrown and drooping ears, whilst his wrinkled and folded skin gave him the appearance of a very bald, extremely ugly breed of Mastiff; a very angry one at that. He was leaping up and down on the spot, his jowls quivering uncontrollably, as he tried to wrest the locket from Sirius' lofty grasp, his breaths now coming in short ragged gasps.

"Stop it!" Hermione shrieked, her tone laced with concern for the frail looking elf who had now given up his attempts to grab the locket which Sirius had palmed and was instead pounding feebly against Sirius' legs, howling something about 'thieving blood traitors'. He appeared quite deranged.

"Stop it, Kreacher!"

To Hermione's immeasurable relief and simultaneous disgust, Kreacher ceased his frenzied attack, obviously unable to ignore a direct order from the head of the family he served. He now stood glaring up at his master, his tiny chest expanding and contracting rapidly as his lungs fought to drag in enough precious oxygen to sustain him as his face twisted and contorted into an expression Hermione struggled to immediately place, so uncommon was it to be found adorning the features of a House-elf -_ hatred_.

In fact, that emotion appeared so powerful that the House-elf seemed perilously close to completely loosing control, his body spasming occasionally, as if being physically restrained by an unseen hand from lashing out at the head of the House of Black as he fought some sort of internal battle between his compulsion to comply with his orders and his obvious desire to possess the locket.

Hot tears prickles at the back of Hermione's eyelids: _No sentient creature should have to live like this_, she thought angrily to herself, her brows pinched together in pity as she regarded the elf's ongoing internal struggle.

Hermione Granger had, of course, met several House-elves during her time in the magical world, but this was behaviour very unlike that which she had come to expect:

Winky for example, like most of the other members of her race Hermione had personal experience with, treated her master with a reverence bordering on fanatical religious zeal. A devotion so strong that it apparently could not be extinguished even after Mr Crouch had presented her with clothes in punishment for disobeying orders and thus severing her bond to him, the doleful elf still desperate to return to her life of slavery with her former master.

Even Dobby, an elf who had long dreamt of, and now relished his freedom, had remained fiercely obedient to the Malfoy family despite his obvious hatred towards them and would no doubt have been punishing himself in some horrific manner if he had attacked his master as Kreacher had just done.

But Kreacher made no such move to punish himself, and although deeply relieved that she had not needed to physically intervene to prevent the aged elf from doing harm to himself, the very fact that he hadn't attempted to discipline himself was worrisome in itself, causing Hermione to wonder if they were entirely safe with the potentially unhinged elf around.

Deeply concerned for the House-elves well being, Hermione slipped off the couch and onto the floor. "Kreacher, is it?" she asked softly as she scooted a little closer. "No one wants to upset you."

"Nasty little Mudblood...speaks to Kreacher..." wheezed the elf between great lungfuls of air, apparently completely unaware that he was voicing some sort of inner monologue aloud, thus confirming much of Hermione's hypothesis regarding his state of mind.

It made sense, she reasoned. From the little Sirius had told them of his early life at Number Twelve, his family had been just as bigoted and convinced of their own supremacy as the Malfoy's and other pureblood families. Therefore it stood to reason that they would have treated their slaves in much the same manner, a lifetime of abuse and slavery taking a heavy toll on Kreacher's state of mind.

Paying his muttered insults no heed, Hermione tried again. "Who is Master Regulus?"

"Kreacher won't speak of Master Regulus to filth like her. Won't, won't, won't."

"_Hermione_." Harry's voice issued from behind her carrying a tone of warning. Objectively, Hermione knew, Harry had had far more experience in dealing with House-elves, but not in the mood to be mollycoddled, she duly ignored him.

"Did the locket belong to him?" she asked, shuffling a little closer still, stretching her open palm towards him in what she hoped was a universal gesture of comfort. Only when the elfs murky blue eyes widened in horror - or at least she assumed they would have done so had they not been all but hidden beneath several folds of skin - did she recognise her grave error of judgement.

"KEEP YOUR FILTHY MUDBLOOD HANDS OFF KREACHER!"

Instinctively Hermione recoiled from the bellowing elf, sensing rather than seeing both Harry and Ron on their feet directly behind her, ready, presumably, to defend her honour.

Sirius' booming voice beat them both to it, however; "That's enough of your bile, Kreacher," he snapped, his inflection making the elf's name sound like something nasty he had found on the sole of his shoe.

"Steady on, Sirius," warned Remus. "There's no need for that!"

"And what do you know about it?" retorted Sirius angrily, suddenly looking quite as mad as the first time Hermione had met him in the shrieking shack at the end of third year as he rounded on his oldest friend. "He always was a vile little creature. He might have worshipped my precious mother and brother, but he hated me ... and I – and I hated him!"

Hermione threw her hands over her mouth in an fruitless attempt to prevent a shocked gasp from escaping her lips. She had been so quick to vilify the rest of Sirius' family line but it hadn't even occurred to her that Kreacher's mental frailties could have been caused by Sirius, a man who had always struck her as the most unprejudiced pure blood wizard she had ever known. A man who treated everyone he met, Werewolves, Muggle-borns and House-elves alike, with good humour, respect and humility.

Yet that same man, a man she had grown to respect enormously in the last year, was now treating a sentient being under his care with something worse than callous disregard. Those same people she had been quick to demonize mere moments earlier having apparently earned Kreacher's loyalty, devotion and respect.

"Can't you see he's distraught, Sirius?" Hermione was on her feet, her voice rising as quickly as her ire, a detached part of her mind trying and failing to draw her attention to just how quickly her temper was running away from her.

"Hermione." Harry's repeated warning no longer held any indication that he was willing to defer to her, this time his hand gently but forcefully taking her right wrist in an attempt to guide her away and defuse the escalating tension.

Shrugging of his attempts a mediation, Hermione took a step forward so that she was all but toe-to-toe with Harry's godfather. More than a head shorter than Sirius, she lifted her chin and glared defiantly into his steely eyes with a cold fury. "He's obviously not in his right mind!"

"NOW SEE HERE YOUNG - "

"**SILENCE!**"

Dumbledore's aura of power and authority did not require him to be physically intimidating, but having elected to draw himself up to his full and imposing height before his powerful voice filled the air did not hurt. The silence he had demanded falling instantaneously.

"Better," he commented, offering a single nod of thanks. Interlacing the digits of both hands, steepling only his index fingers, he continued in a far softer tone. "I, shall take that," he said gesturing with his steepled fingers towards the locket still clasped in Sirius' hand.

Sirius' slightly glazed eyes slipped towards his fisted hand that held the Horcrux almost as if he had forgotten it was there.

With a shrug of acceptance, he dropped the locket into his other palm and coiled the chain on top of it, tossing it a moment later towards Dumbledore, who, in a movement quicker than the human eye could follow, unclasped his hands and snatched the locket out of the air.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Ron in awe. "How did you - "

"Gryffindor Seeker eighteen-ninety-two to ninety-nine," replied Dumbledore by way of explanation, a good natured chuckle escaping his lips as he did so. Slipping his wand from the folds of his sleeves, he conjured a protective shield around the locket with the practised ease of a orchestra conductor. "Better I presume?" he added as he completed the task, peering over his half moon spectacles as he re-directed his gaze towards Hermione and Sirius.

"_Huh?_" Hermione blinked dumbly several times as if being roused from a deep slumber. Her less than articulate response owing to the fact that her mind felt sluggish and unresponsive, taking several moments to even recognise that the headmaster had addressed her directly.

She opened her mouth to reply but closed it quickly, repeating the motion several times, each time only managing to utter several incoherent syllables before she lapsed back into silence, screwing her eyes tightly shut and kneading her temples with her middle and ring fingers as she tried to process the jumbled images racing across her mind.

She had been arguing with someone, that much she was certain of. But who and why remained frustratingly out of reach.

Hermione did not resist as a warm hand wrapped around her wrist, gently cajoling her back to the couch, a warm blanket being pressed around her shoulders as she was guided into a sitting position. Only then did she notice that she was shivering uncontrollably.

"Hermione? Are you okay?" Harry had entwined his hand around hers, his physical presence both physically warming and emotionally soothing to her, as his thumb traced aimless patterns on the back of her palm.

Hermione allowed her eyes to open, her gaze immediately coming to rest on Harry's concerned filled eyes. "I'm alright Harry," she said with an attempt at a smile of reassurance. "I just need to - " Her eyes widened in horror as her words trailed away, the memory of her forestalled argument with Sirius returning like a bludger to the head. She recalled now with crystal clarity her fury at his treatment of Kreacher, but also the memory of just how close she had come to completely loosing control so overwhelming had her desire been to cause him physical pain.

_The Horcrux_! she realised at last, her eyes widening as the rational part of her mind reasserted itself once more.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, perhaps recognising the nacient understanding dawning in her deep brown eyes. "As you both no doubt realise by now," the headmaster explained. "You have been adversely influenced by the fragment of soul contained within the Horcrux. A problem I believe I have alleviated, at least in the short term," he concluded waving a distracted hand in the general direction of the glowing sphere now hovering a few inches above eye height.

Hermione's eye line followed the headmasters gesture, the brief flash of recognition her subconscious registered as her eyes fell upon the glowing sphere unable to force its way to the forefront of her thoughts before Sirius broke the hushed silence that the headmasters words had created.

"But no one else was affected?" he asked, his dark eyebrows pinched together hooding his eyes. He was slumped against the fireplace, his head bowed low as he pinched at the bridge of his nose, both Ron and Remus hovering on either side of him, their arms not quite resting at their sides as if they expected to have to support the former Azkaban inmate at any moment – it seemed to be taking Sirius measurably longer to shrug off the effects of the Horcrux than Hermione. "Me, I can just about figure," he said pushing off from the mantle unsteadily beginning to pace the far wall once more, his shadows in close proximity. "I was in physical contact with the thing, but why did it affect Hermione too?"

Hermione couldn't fail to notice that Sirius had been unable to look her in the eye as he had spoken her name, something she would need to address with him in private, but equally couldn't deny that his point was valid, her right brow quirking upwards in response.

"I am no expert on such things, Sirius," admitted Dumbledore. "But I would postulate two possible explanations. One - " the headmaster wrapped his outstretched finger with his other hand. " - The effects of the Horcrux are cumulative. It took almost an entire year for the diary to possess young Ginny Weasley, and, as Miss Granger ... part of her at least," Dumbledore amended in an obvious reference to her dual core, "has evidently been in close proximity to it, for many months perhaps, she was more susceptible to it's effects now."

"And two?" asked Harry.

"That Horcruxes feed on darkness, Harry," replied Dumbledore evenly. "Sirius, we know has spent much of his adult life unjustly tormented by the foulest creatures known to wizard kind. But it would seem clear that the Elder Miss Granger's life was far from happy either." Perhaps noting how his words had demoralized both Hermione and Sirius, he added in a tone of consolation; "I would assume that the Horcrux would have begun to affect all of us given time."

"So they didn't mean those things they said?" put in Ron hopefully.

Dumbledore shook his head causing his long beard to sway from side to side. "Quite the contrary Mr Weasley," he counselled. "The Horcrux could do no more than amplify any animosity that already existed."

Hermione's heart sank. Surely there was no way that, even deep down, she could possibly harbour such hatred towards someone she had – _still_ considered, a friend.

Either her dismay was evident on her features, or her minds natural mental shields had been weakened by her experience of the Horcrux, for Dumbledore, as if reading her inner thoughts, continued. "Miss Granger's outbursts were at least motivated by her concern for the welfare of another magical being," he said comfortingly. "However, I do hope that you may gain a little enlightenment from your experience, Sirius," he added turning his gazed on the former marauder. "I have voiced my belief many times this past month that Kreacher should be treated with respect and kindness; counsel you have thus far ignored," he continued, his omnipresent twinkle absent as his sapphire eyes took on a hint of steel. "I trust you may now be more ... _motivated_ to analyse your feelings towards your servant in the coming days. Does your animosity to him stem, as you claim, from his hatred of you, or is it perhaps more truthful to say that you loathed him like you did anything associated with the prejudices of your family?"

Dumbledore allowed his words to hang in the air for a moment before adding; "It is our compassion which marks us out as different from the dark, Sirius."

Sirius gave a slow contemplative nod but said nothing as a heavy silence began to stretch between the rooms occupants. A silence finally broken by Harry.

"We've got to destroy it." Although unspoken, no one could doubt that he spoke of the Horcrux.

"It can not be done," croaked Kreacher. "It is impossible. Kreacher tried for many years, but Kreacher f-failed."

_No wonder he's not in his right mind. _Having noted the manner in which the aged elf's voice had wavered on his admission of failure, Hermione had concluded that he had been ordered to destroy the locket, perhaps by this Master Regulus, whoever he was. _It must have eaten away at him not being able to comply with a direct order, _Hermione realised compassionately.

"I assure you Kreacher," said Dumbledore kindly pulling Hermione's thoughts back to the present. "It can, and will be done."

_Happy_. It wasn't quite the right word to describe the expression that bloomed on Kreacher's wrinkled face, Hermione mused. _Satisfaction? Relief Perhaps?_ Whatever the definition there was no denying the change in the elf's demeanour.

With a last knowing look towards the little elf, Dumbledore turned to address Remus and Ron, still hovering near the still pacing Sirius. "The sword of Gryffindor is on display in my office," he said. "Can I ask the both of you to retrieve it?" His question received two nods of agreement. "Severus knows the password to open the swords display case. Only he is tied to the wards protecting it."

Blue eyes met cinnamon and without another word the two lanky Gryffindors strode from the room, presumably headed to the kitchen to floo to the castle.

"So that'll be it then?" wondered Harry aloud. "We stab the locket with the sword and Voldemort will be destroyed? Gone for good?"

"Alas, I fear not, Harry." Harry's hopeful smile collapsed. "I did not believe that anyone would have actively chosen to split their soul more than once, but as it is clear that in his quest for immortality Voldemort has done just that, I fear we must assume that he has made more. Perhaps many more."

Harry bowed his head and raked his fingers through his perpetually messy hair, the burden of his task obviously settling heavily on his shoulders once more. His eyes were starring into space in the general direction of the kaleidoscope of light dancing on the surface of the protective sphere surrounding the Horcrux, and Hermione offered what comfort she could by running her fingers through the raven hair on the back of his head, her own gaze wandering to the floating orb.

As she watched the reflected dancing firelight the memory of something similar tugged at her consciousness for the second time that evening. Quickly drawing parallels, her mind instantly offered her intellect with lines of reasoning thus far untrodden, her eyes widening as several pieces of the incomplete jigsaw puzzle in her mind neatly slipped into place as she pursued those new avenues to their obvious conclusions.

"Can a Horcrux be a living creature, professor?" she asked, trying to modulate her voice to hide her excitement.

"I do not foresee any reason why it should be physically impossible, Miss Granger," he replied at length, thoughtfully stroking his long beard. "But, I must confess, using another life form to house a piece of another's soul does not appear to be a particularly wise choice. A being with free will of it's own...well, let us say, is even less suitable as a Horcrux than a diary. Why do you ask?"

"My vision - my first vision I mean ... the one with Voldemort in the forest - " As was often the case when her mind worked quicker than her mouth, Hermione was rambling inarticulately. Frustrated with herself, she brought her balled fist to her mouth and forced herself to stop speaking. "I saw Voldemort," she continued making a concerted effort to force her speech into a more natural cadence. "He had imprisoned a giant snake in a sphere – just like that one." Her head bobbed in the direction of the globe which encased the locket. "At first I thought it was to protect the death eaters from the snake, but now I'm thinking that Voldemort was using it to protect the snake."

"You believe the snake is a Horcrux."

Hermione's head swung to her right and was somewhat surprised to see that the voice had issued from Luna Lovegood who still sat alongside Harry, the Ravenclaw witch having gone all but unnoticed during their lengthy conversation. But then, Hermione mused, that was Luna's great gift, her perceptiveness stemming from her ability to blend in so as to observe others without putting them on their guard.

"Nagini!" Harry's voice was the merest of whispers, but never-the-less drew the attention of everyone in the room. "Nagini," he repeated, realising he now had an audience. He looked up and caught Hermione's gaze, a look of renewed determination reflected in his green eyes. "I had a dream in the summer - the one where my scar hurt - but the memory kind of slipped away," he explained with a shrug. "But I remember now. Voldemort's familiar is a snake. A giant snake called Nagini!"

"Is it possible, Albus?" Sirius wanted to know, his index finger absent mindedly tracing a branch of his family tree. "Could Voldemort have entrusted a piece of his soul to this, _Nagini_?"

"Possible," agreed Dumbledore. "Probable in fact upon further consideration," he added. "You see I am detecting something of a pattern with regards the items Lord Voldemort has chosen to anchor himself to this mortal plane. If I am not mistaken Voldemort has chosen each of his Horcruxes because they hold a particular significance to him."

Taking the silence of those remaining as an invitation to continue, Dumbledore reseated himself as said. "I do not believe I am being too bold to suggest that Tom Riddle has never experienced true friendship in his life. As such, if it is true that he has bestowed a piece of his soul to a creature that has chosen to bond itself to him, it is a sign of just how important Nagini is to him.

The locket also holds a powerful significance to Voldemort, for unless I am mistaken, this locket once belonged to Salazar Slytherin himself, Lord Voldemort's direct ancestor."

"And the diary?" asked Harry sounding somewhat unconvinced.

"Ah yes, the diary," said Dumbledore. "Whilst wholly unremarkable unto itself, I agree Harry. It did contain instructions on how to re-open the chamber of secrets and complete his quest to rid Hogwarts of all he deemed unworthy to study magic. I believe the young Tom Riddle would have believed it worthy of hiding a piece of his soul within."

"Ok, so the snake's a Horcrux," conceded Sirius. "How do we find it?"

"Perhaps Kreacher knows," suggested Luna dreamily. "He knew about the locket after all."

Hermione's lips thinned as she considered the Ravenclaws suggestion. "It's certainly worth asking," she said a moment later. "But perhaps you should ask him Sirius," she added, recalling just how uncomfortable her mere presence had made the elf earlier.

But, to her surprise and delight, Kreacher did not wait for the question to be repeated by his master. "Kreacher will answer any questions from the destroyer of the locket," he said cordially. "But Kreacher does not know anything of any _others_. Master Regulus told Kreacher to bring the locket back and to destroy it. Kreacher does not know why. Kreacher did not ask."

"And what about this Master Regulus? Maybe he knows."

"I don't think he is in a position to tell anyone much of anything, Harry," replied Luna.

Hermione's brow arched toward her hairline once more. "Why do you say that, Luna?"

"Because he's dead." Sirius grey eyes were studying one particular branch of the Black family tree. Turning to look over her shoulder at the tapestry, Hermione's eye line following his to a name near the scorch mark where his own name would once have been: _Regulus Arcturus Black._

"He was your brother?"

"Yes, Hermione," replied Dumbledore. "Regulus was Sirius' younger brother."

"And he was everything I wasn't," cut in Sirius. "Sorted into Slytherin; proud of his pureblood heritage; a perfect son for the Noble House of Black."

There was no disguising the resentment in Sirius' tone so Hermione elected to change the subject slightly. "How did he die?"

Sirius shrugged. "I have no idea. I was pretty much _persona non grata_ around here at the time, you know? I don't even think my family knew how he met his end, but the tapestry doesn't lie," he concluded pointing towards the skull above his brothers name, his death being recorded as sometime in nineteen-seventy-nine.

In her peripheral vision Hermione noted that Kreacher's jaw was working as if he were on the verge of speaking.

"Out with it Kreacher," demanded Sirius, having obviously noted the same thing. "I mean, please ... if you have something to say," he amended in response to Hermione's withering glare.

"Master Regulus died defending Kreacher," the elf explained, his murky eyes glistening with unshed tears."Kreacher was afforded the great honour of serving the Dark Lord. Kreacher was taken to a cave near the sea to test it's defences where the Dark Lord ordered Kreacher to drink a potion. The potion was poisoned but Kreacher is a good House-elf, so Kreacher obeyed."

Hermione stifled a sob as the aged House-elf continued his tale. "The Dark Lord left Kreacher to die in that place, but Master Regulus had told Kreacher to return home when Kreacher finished his task - so Kreacher did." The House-elf offered a very human shrug that said it was the most natural thing in the world for him to obey his orders – even when close to death. "Master Regulus was furious, angrier than Kreacher had ever seen him. Master ordered Kreacher to return with him to the cave where Master Regulus drank from the poisoned potion and took the locket. Kreacher was ordered to replace it with a fake before returning the original here. Kreacher was to destroy the locket, but Kreacher could not. Kreacher could not even open it."

Blinking back tears, Hermione had slipped from the couch, knelt on the floor and enveloped the tiny elf in a hug before she even realised what she was doing, delighted to note that whilst Kreacher did stiffen somewhat at the contact he did not resist further.

"Anyone order a sword?" came Ron's familiar voice as the door to the hallway swung open once more.

Releasing her hold on Kreacher, Hermione sat back on her haunches and turned towards Ron's voice to find her best friend, Remus Lupin and Severus Snape framed in the doorway, the ruby adorned sword of Gryffindor, encased in it's glass display case, glittering in the orange glow of the fire.

"Ah. Excellent timing," proclaimed Dumbledore as the three men entered the room and placed the case on the coffee table. "Although I must confess I was not expecting you to accompany Remus and Mr Weasley, Severus."

Snape's eyelids closed over his black eyes and gave a slow inclination of his head; almost a bow off respect. "My other tasks were not pressing, headmaster," he explained smoothly. "And, when I learnt what was to transpire here, I felt it prudent to accompany them. We can have no way of knowing what addition protections the Dark Lord may have installed."

Dumbledore gave his silent agreement by way of a nod.

"Besides," added Snape, a malevolent gleam in his dark eyes as his gaze slipped towards the still crouching Hermione. "I would not wish to miss Granger's adoption of her latest hard luck case. Potter and Weasely not enough for you?" he concluded as his gaze fell on Kreacher, the corner of his lip curling as he did so.

"Severus." Dumbledore had not spoken loudly, but the tone of warning it held was unmistakable and Snape fell into silence as readily as if he himself had been a House-elf ordered to do so. The headmaster blue eyes held the potions masters gaze in a manner that said as clearly as if he had spoken it aloud; _we shall speak of this later, Severus._

Having held the head-of-house's gaze for several moments, Dumbledore broke eye contact, retrieved his wand, pointed it at the display case and murmured something unintelligible.

There was no lid to speak of, Hermione noted with interest, instead, in response to what had obviously been a password, the glass of the case appeared to dissolve, a thin outline of the rectangular cuboid still visible, but obviously no longer solid as the headmaster reached his free hand straight through, what moments ago had been soils glass, to grasp the handle of the ancient sword.

Intrigued by the mechanics of the magic she had just witnessed, Hermione opened her mouth to quench her boundless thirst for knowledge, but, instead of enquiring about the spell work, her subconscious forced her to voice a question that had been troubling her since they had viewed her fragmentary memory in the pensieve. "Professor?. How do we even know the sword will work? I mean, the memory kept breaking up. How do we know it wasn't just...well...a dream?"

"I had feeling you might ask that Miss Granger," replied Dumbledore affably. "As I have already postulated, your Elder Self was indeed asleep during the events we witnessed. The fragmentary nature of what we saw owing to your Elder Selves no doubt restless slumber. I doubt any of us would be able to sleep soundly in the mists of a war," he added.

"I still don't understand, sir," admitted Hermione as she pushed herself up from the plush carpet and flopped back down onto the couch entwining her fingers automatically around Harry's. "If I - the other me that is - was asleep, how do we know it wasn't some sort of dream concocted by my mind?"

Dumbledore smiled sagely. "Again, two reasons, Miss Granger," he explained patiently. "Firstly, a wizards mind is far more..._active_, for want of a better term, than a muggles. Our subconscious minds, as Harry has already inferred from his experience with the Diary, record far more than what we actually witness. I myself unwittingly spoilt Minerva's plans for a surprise celebration to honour my one hundredth Birthday as I reviewed one of my own memories."

Hermione pursed her lips in an obvious expression of uncertainty.

"Besides," Dumbledore continued unfazed. "The sword of Gryffindor was in fact forged by Goblins. As you may know Goblin made items only - "

" - Imbibe what makes them stronger."

"Precisely, Miss Granger," agreed Dumbledore. " As such the sword will have imbued itself with basilisk venom – a substance we know destroyed the diary Horcrux."

Hermione nodded her acceptance of the headmasters reasoning. "But I think Kreacher should be the one to destroy it."

Dumbledore appeared to consider her request for a split second before offering the handle of the sword to the diminutive elf. "I, concur."

Kreacher's wide eyes blinked several times before he extended a trembling hand to take to proffered sword.

"So how do we do this then?" Ron's question had also been on the tip of Hermione's tongue.

"First we must open the locket," declared the headmaster, a scene from the pensieve memory flashing across Hermione's mind as she recalled the image of Harry holding the locket open against a rock.

"And how do we do that?" Sirius wanted to know.

"Harry?"

Harry furrowed his brow in response to the headmasters knowing gaze as he spoke his name, before understanding bloomed in his green eyes. "Parseltongue!"

Dumbledore nodded and summoned the locket with a wave of his hand, lowering it onto the coffee table.

Harry, like Hermione before him, slipped of the couch and knelt before it, his face screwed up in concentration as he tried, Hermione knew, to visualise the serpentine 'S' as a real snake.

"HESSETH HESLEAY."

To Hermione's astonishment, their bond permitted her to internally translate the hissing sounds of Parselmouth into English; 'Open up!' The clasp of the locket immediately releasing permitting the locket to open along its hinges like a golden clam.

Behind each of the glass windows within blinked a dark, handsome living eye.

"Stab it, Kreacher," encouraged Hermione, but the elf remained rooted to the spot, the sword held limply at his side as his gaze rested on the eyes within.

"Stab it!" repeated Harry imploringly.

Kreacher hefted the sword in both hands and raised it above his head, his arms quivering with the effort. It was then that Hermione noticed the gleam of scarlet in his formerly blue eyes.

"Fools!" Kreacher spat in a high pitched voice very unlike his own as he levelled the sword at chest height almost daring someone to attack him. "You shall all perish for your arrogance."

"Kreacher, stab it, STAB IT!" Sirius yelled, making to place himself between Hermione, Harry and the obviously possessed elf.

Kreacher raised the sword high overhead once more, forcing three words past his lips. "For - Master – Regulus!"

The sword flashed, plunged and, as Harry threw himself aside, there was a splintering of wood as the table was cleaved in two, followed by a long, drawn-out scream.

The sword of Gryffindor clanged to the ground as Kreacher's strength deserted him, falling to rest next to the shattered and slightly smoking remains of the locket.

* * *

><p><em>AM – Well there we go. Two Horcruxes down, and one more that they are now fairly certain exists. _

_I guess there are a couple of things to pick up on in this chapter:_

_Firstly the title; in Latin Regulus means 'Little King' so it seemed an apt fit. _

_Next up, I guess some will wonder why the locket didn't put up quite so much of a fight this time around. My thoughts are that the locket requires long term contact before it can know how to torment its would-be destroyers._

_Oh, and last but not least – anyone ever wonder who had been the youngest house Quidditch player prior to Harry? Well we do now – Dumbledore. The dates work out perfectly! _

_Anyway, you know me, I love to hear your thoughts (good or bad) so feel free to review on you way out. _

_Till next time peeps_

_Wings._

_Ps – it's 1am here and I've been at this for four hours, so any glaring typos etc can be blamed on my fuzzy brain!_


	17. Chapter 17 Where your Treasure is

_A/N - For those of you reading multiple fics, there is a recap of the story so far bellow my author musings (sounds much better than author notes, right?) at the bottom of this chapter to help you remember exactly what has occurred so far._

_Hello everyone. A grovelling apology for the nearly month long delay in getting this uploaded. I know it's been a VERY long wait for this chapter, and whilst I could fib and say I was busy with work or family, the truth is I just lost my inspiration for this chapter for a few weeks so I elected not to force it knowing that the end result would be the weaker for it if I just pushed on regardless. I hope you all enjoy it._

_Disclaimer: Do I have to keep repeating myself? (Oh...my lawyer says I do) In which case - Potter belongs to me! Oh, wait...that's not right is it? You'd think I'd have the hang of this by now._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Seventeen - Where Your Treasure Is<strong>

Hermione awoke feeling deeply disorientated, roused from a slumber she did not recall entering by her subconscious minds assertion that she was being watched. Instinctively her right hand groped for her wand as her left hand pressed into soft fabric, pushing herself into a sitting position, her eyes snapping open as she did so.

An action she was to regret instantly as her gaze fell on the almost blinding visage before her - a Patronus.

Squinting against the too bright light of the magnificent creature standing before her, Hermione lowered her wand as she recognised it as Dumbledore's Phoenix, Fawkes. Or, more accurately, a magical representation of the headmaster's familiar

Using the radiant light that the Patronus produced, Hermione gazed around the large room, her feeling of disorientation ebbing away as she recognised the large space as that of the training room Sirius had set up for them on the top floor of Number Twelve, her memories of the past day quickly reasserting themselves as she shrugged of the after effects of her unplanned nap.

_Our _unplanned nap, she corrected as her gaze fell on Harry's still sleeping form, whom, if the numbness present in her right cheek was anything to go on, she had apparently been using as a pillow.

His head was tipped back over the backrest of the sofa in what looked like a terribly uncomfortable posture in which to sleep, his glasses sitting crookedly on his nose as only the rhythmic sounds of his deep breathing filled the air.

Hermione now recalled that they had been trying out a few new spells that she had researched for Harry's use in the upcoming final task of the tri-wizard championship. However, with still no firm indication as to what the third task would entail, the couples practise session had quickly devolved into little more than a playful duelling contest. One which had ended in stalemate.

In a real duel, Hermione suspected that Harry would hold a slight edge over her, for whilst it was true that both their magical strength and technical skills were very similar (albeit far stronger than was considered normal for youngsters their age), Harry's instincts were more highly attuned; his spell choice seemingly more automatic requiring little or no conscious thought to select the best offensive or defensive move. Fortunately for Hermione, it was an advantage that had been largely nullified by virtue of their bond, Harry's every thought telegraphed to her ahead of time giving her time to prepare a counter ensuring that their duel had become the very epitome of the unmovable object and the irresistible force, their impromptu faux-duel concluding only when the exhausted pair had collapsed, and evidently fallen asleep on the wide couch Sirius had set along one wall.

Before her the pearlescent bird opened it beak, once more drawing Hermione's attention back toward the Patronus as Dumbledore's unmistakable voice filled the room. "I believe I have located the Gaunt shack," he said evenly although there was no hiding the hint of excitement his tone carried. "I will retrieve the ring and return to Headquarters with it forthwith."

With it's message relayed, the glowing phoenix disappeared, plunging Hermione into total darkness, the image of the glowing avian still imprinted on her retinas.

"Her - My - Nee?" Harry's groggy voice emerged from the inky blackness, the halting manner in which he strung the three syllables of her name together suggesting that he was barely conscious.

Temporarily blinded by the abrupt change in light levels, Hermione gave up her fruitless attempts to massage away the flashing lights which obscured her vision, rolled on her hip, and felt her way back towards Harry, curling up with her head resting on his lap once more, the remnants of the heat soak she had created on his clothes proving very against the encroaching chill of the late evening. She now noted she still wore only a short sleeved vest and jogging bottoms; excellent attire for training, but hardly the warmest of garments.

As she settled herself once more, Harry's hands found her hair, a soft sigh of contentment slipping past her lips as his fingers ran through her slowly lengthening locks now held back by an Alice band. _Perhaps no one will miss us if we just stay up here._

"Who was that?" Harry's rumbling voice, whilst still thick with sleep, sounded noticeably more alert as he posed his query.

Practical Hermione knew that Harry would want to know immediately about Dumbledore's discovery, however that knowledge did not stop her wishing that they could both simply close their eyes again and drift back off to sleep. "It was Dumbledore," she replied after a moment, her logical side winning the short lived internal debate.

"He's found it..._already_?" Only Harry's last word issued as a question, his fingers ceasing their soothing motions through her hair as he made the mental connection between Hermione's brief explanation and the item he knew Dumbledore sought. A search initiated with assistance from yet more memories retrieved from Hermione's future half.

"Mmm hmm," managed Hermione, her eyelids already feeling heavy again, and she reached up to re-initiate the aimless patterns Harry's fingers had been tracing through her hair.

Dumbledore's rapid success should not have come as too a great a surprise, Hermione mused as Harry acquiesced and began to to stroke her hair again. In the month since they had destroyed Slytherin's Locket, the Order had discovered and eliminated two more of Lord Voldemort's Horcruxes: A Cup which had once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, and, perhaps even more incredibly, the Diadem that had once belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw, lost for centuries

Neither had been overly challenging to locate, however the Cup in particular had proven so laughably easy to destroy that it had been something of an anticlimax when compared to the drama of the Locket's discovery and subsequent destruction...

oOo

_Ten days ago._

"This cup?" Sirius enquired. "You say it's in some sort of cave?"

Hermione merely nodded her agreement, recalling the dim, musty smelling cave she had witnessed in her most recent lucid dream. A dream which she had just finished relaying the details of to the Order.

"Surely it can't be _that_ easy?" Sirius murmured under his breath his forefinger and thumb stroking thoughtfully at the well groomed beard which adorned his chin.

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but her inquiry into what couldn't be so easy was cut off as Sirius bounded to his feet and proclaimed with a look of triumph in his pale eyes; "I'll be away for a couple of days. If I'm not back in three...just wait longer!" he added with a cheery wink to punctuate his joke.

Making use of the stunned silence his declaration had instigated, Sirius cast a hasty glamour charm to disguise his appearance, before disapparating away without so much as another word.

oOo

A wry grin tugged at the corners of Hermione's mouth as she recalled his triumphant return a day and a half later, the golden goblet's delicate wrought handle hooked over his little finger.

Much of his clothing had shown clear evidence of singeing and scorch marks, whilst the exposed areas of his skin also bore testament to several recently, and inexpertly healed burns. Never-the-less, Sirius had been grinning from ear to ear, rebutting any questions as to how he had achieved such a feat with the line_ 'ask me no questions and I shall tell you no lies'._

Even now, ten days after the event, neither Hermione, Harry, or any of the other members of the Order of the Phoenix for that matter, were any the wiser.

_'A true magician never revealed his secrets,' _he would say whenever the topic arose.

With the Cup destroyed, it was Harry, and not another future memory, which had prompted their next avenue of investigation.

oOo

_Six days ago._

"It can't be coincidence," stated Harry assertively to the assembled order members who were in attendance of the weekly briefing, held this week in Dumbledore's magically cooled office, the first week of May having heralded an early glimpse of the heat only normally associated with high summer in the Scottish Highlands. "Hufflepuff's Cup; Slytherins Locket." He ticked off each object on his fingers. "Voldemort is obviously using heirlooms from the founders of Hogwarts to create his Horcruxes."

Hermione nodded her agreement. "We know Voldemort likes to convert only those items he deems worthy. It stands to reason that if he adjudged items belonging to the founders of two of the school houses to fulfil that brief, he would surely covet artefacts once belonging to either Rowena Ravenclaw or Godric Gryffindor as well."

"I can assure you, Hermione," replied Dumbledore evenly from his customary position behind his ornate desk. "Only two relics which were once owned by Godric Gryffindor are known to have survived to the present day. The Sword of Gryffindor of course, and the Sorting Hat and I am convinced that neither of them serves as a vessel for a piece of Lord Voldemort's soul."

Dumbledore's calm assurances, Hermione noted, did little to assuage Harry's concerns, his doubts written all over his expressive features. "Not to sound confrontational, sir, but how do you know? No one knew what the diary was after all, and the locket sat in a cabinet for more than a decade without anyone suspecting it's true nature."

Dumbledore pursed his lips and unclasped his hands in a gesture of submission. "A valid concern, Harry," he agreed. "However, as I have said, I am convinced." Placing his palms on his desk the headmaster pushed himself into a standing position and regarded each member of the group before him, not in challenge, but more to assure himself that he had the full attention of each. "The sword, as we know, imbues only what makes it stronger. As such, I do not believe it could have ever housed a piece of Voldemort's soul. Taking something as fragmented and as decidedly evil as a shard of Voldemort's soul unto itself could have only have served to weaken it. However -" he continued without pausing for breath, forestalling the reply that had formed on Harry's lips. " - even allowing for the possibility that I am mistaken, should a Horcrux have once existed, it would have been destroyed upon the sword coming into contact with basilisk venom two years ago."

Harry nodded in acceptance of the headmasters assurances. "And the Hat?"

"I asked it." The headmaster's words were accompanied by a shrug which conveyed the fact that he considered such an action to have been the most logical thing in the world.

Hermione frowned. "And you believed it?"

"Yes, Miss Granger. The Sorting Hat is a powerful magical object and could not be confounded. If the hat tells us that it has not been converted into a Horcrux, I believe it."

Hermione's scowl softened, finding she could not dispute the august wizards reasoning.

"Ok," put in Sirius, from his position perched nonchalantly on one of the window sills, the bright early summer sunshine at his back. "Neither the Hat or the Sword are Horcruxes. What about something that belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw?"

Although Sirius had voiced the question, the quick glance Hermione stole towards the other occupants of Dumbledore's study confirmed that the same question had formed on all of their lips.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I am afraid to say that nothing belonging to the founder of the noble house of Ravenclaw has survived the ravages of time..."

"Well, there's always her lost Diadem."

As was often the case, having apparently not been listening to the unfolding conversation, Luna's dreamy interruption startled the rest of the group, every pair of eyes swinging towards her position in an overly large armchair, her feet swinging slightly owing to the fact that she could not reach the floor.

Dumbledore's wispy eyebrows climbed toward his crown of white hair. "As you correctly point out, Miss Lovegood, the Diadem is indeed _lost_, and has been for many centuries."

Luna nodded serenely. "Lost, does not mean gone," she said simply.

"Perhaps so," conceded the headmaster after a moment of consideration, one hand cupping his chin as he began to pace the confines behind his desk. "However, for Tom Riddle to have created a Horcrux from it, he would have first needed to find it."

"Ravenclaw's Diadem has been missing for millennia, Luna," added Remus kindly. "No one alive today would have a clue where to even begin searching for it.

"Then what about someone who's not alive?" It was exactly the kind of leap of intuition that was quintessentially Harry; one which in retrospect seemed so obvious. The castle was home to literally dozens of ghost, some of whom, reasoned Hermione, must surely have been alive at the time of the Founders. She said as much aloud.

"You could always ask the ghost of Ravenclaw Tower then," suggested Luna.

"The Grey Lady?" enquired Hermione, recalling the fact from Hogwarts a History.

Luna nodded.

Ron was next to pose a question. "And she was alive at the time of the founders?" he asked from his position perched on the arm of Luna's arm chair.

"Oh yes," confirmed Luna happily, the loose braid she had chosen to tie her hair back in bobbing as she nodded her head in agreement. "In life she was Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter..."

oOo

A mere half hour later the group had located the earthly shadow of Helena Ravenclaw floating serenely towards the library.

"Hullo," ventured Luna, taking the lead.

Without turning to face them, the Grey Lady paused. "Hello Luna. Do you need help finding your things again?"

"No. Not today, thank you."

Luna's response, whilst cheerful enough, carried a hint of something that Hermione could not readily identify, but which never-the-less pulled her features into a slight frown of concern for her friend. She knew that Luna was viewed as something of an oddball by their fellow students, her peculiar beliefs and mannerisms earning her the unwelcome sobriquet of _'Looney_ Lovegood'. However if their teasing and name calling had escalated to something more, such as hiding her personal belongings...

Hermione forced herself to take a breath, simultaneously unclenching her fist thus relieving the pressure that her nails had been exerting on her palm as her muscles had contracted in barely restrained anger at the thought of anyone bullying her friend. Making a mental note to speak with Luna at a more opportune moment, Hermione filed her concerns away and returned her attention back to the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw.

"You have never brought..._others_ before, Luna," commented the ghost rotating slowly on the spot to face them, her eyes moving warily over each member of the group as if readying herself to flee.

"We thought you might be able to help us," offered Remus, taking a half stride forwards to address the spectre. "You see, we are looking for something," he concluded waving a pale hand towards the assembled Order members.

"You seek my mother's Diadem." Her tone was laced with accusation.

"Yes," agreed Dumbledore simply, electing to be forthright with the spectral being.

Helena's transparent gaze shifted towards Luna. "You are kind and thoughtful, Luna," she said. "But you were wrong to bring them here. I cannot help you," and without further comment the ghost of Ravenclaw tower turned to leave.

"WAIT!" Harry's echoing plea filled the deserted corridor, but had the desired effect and the ghost of Helena Ravenclaw consented to pause although she did not fully turn around to face. Instead she merely cocked an ear towards them over her shoulder. "I - _we_ need your help," he corrected. "We have to find your mother's Diadem."

"You are hardly the first to covet it," she replied making no effort to hide her disdain.

"We want to destroy it." In hindsight, it was Hermione's belief that a future memory had prompted her to blurt out such an unexpected statement. However, at the time, she had no such rational and could merely shrug sheepishly at the looks of disbelief she received from several of her companions. It did, however, have the desired effect, the ghost of Ravenclaw deigning to fully face the group once again.

"Another sought it many years ago. A strange boy with a strange name."

"Tom Riddle," stated Harry with certainty.

Helena Ravenclaw's ghost remained quite still for several moments, floating slightly above them, the silence stretching in such a manner that Hermione felt sure the ghost would choose not to answer, when, almost imperceptibly, she lowered her chin in a single slow nod of accession.

"He was flattering," she admitted in a low voice. "He seemed to understand...to sympathize..."

"About what, dear Lady?" Dumbledore's question resulted in Helena's gaze dropping to her feet suspended several inches above the stone floor, an obvious gesture of contrition.

"I stole my mother's Diadem," she admitted, her voice barely louder than the summer breeze beyond the castle walls. "I sought to make myself cleverer, more important than my mother. I ran away with it."

"And you told Tom Riddle where to find it?" Sirius' tone was gentle, eliciting a second nod of agreement from her.

"He said he wished to destroy it...to remove my burden...but he lied."

"He's lied to a great many people," offered Dumbledore.

Whilst obviously intended as words of comfort, the headmasters statement had exactly the opposite effect, the Grey Lady drawing herself up in silent fury, her visage becoming both more beautiful and more terrifying simultaneously.

"I KNOW WHO HE IS! I KNOW WHAT HE'S DONE! HE DEFILED IT. WITH DARK MAGIC!"

Dumbledore had the good sense to look suitably abashed whilst Hermione and Harry shared a knowing look. They now had near certain proof that Voldemort had indeed found and converted Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem into another Horcrux.

"We can destroy it, Helena," said Harry. "Once and for all."

"You just need to tell us where he hid it," added Hermione.

"You do know where he hid it, don't you?" chimed in Ron, the trio now standing shoulder to shoulder before the opaque figure.

For a heart stopping moment, Hermione feared they had pushed too far as Helena Ravenclaw began to retreat, backing away from them down the corridor towards the library once more. "It is here, in the castle," she said finally as she approached a fork in the corridor. "In a place where everything is hidden. If you have to ask, you'll never know. If you know, you need only ask."

Although the frown of confusion that creased Hermione's brow was replicated on the faces of Harry, Ron and Dumbledore (Luna still wore her mildly disinterested expression), Sirius and Remus wore matching grinsthat Hermione had thus far only ever seen etched on the faces of Fred and George Weasley; "The room of requirement!" they exclaimed in a fair replication of the twins often simultaneous speech.

oOo

"Hermione!" Harry's voice pulled her back to the present as he gently rocked her shoulder, his tone filled with barely restrained impatience. Realising that her eyes had slid shut once more, Hermione forced them open and turned to face Harry.

Having sufficiently re-adjusted to the growing gloom, Hermione was now able to make out her boyfriends dark silhouette framed against one of the attic rooms dormer windows.

_Sorry_, she projected to him. _Must have been more tired than I thought._

Though still unable to see the detail of his expression, Hermione could literally feel the warmth of his broad smile_; no kidding,_ it seemed to say. What with their continued extra-curricular lessons with Luna and Sirius, the Horcrux hunt and their ongoing preparation for the final task, all on top of their regular school work, they did have every excuse to feel exhausted.

"Come on," said Harry aloud as he tapped her bottom impatiently. "Dumbledore will be back soon and we don't want to miss out on finishing off another piece of dear old Tom, do we?"

Hermione returned the grin she could 'hear' in Harry's inner voice as she replayed the memory of Luna destroying the diadem in her minds eye, Harry having insisted that she should 'have the pleasure' as he had phrased it after their exhaustive search of the vast Room of Hidden Things.

Harry tapped at her bottom a second time, his unspoken sentiment as clear as if he had voiced it aloud; _get up_.

Not needing to be told twice, Hermione allowed him to rise by shifting from his lap, kneading the stiff muscles of her neck as she did so before taking his proffered hand to be pulled to her feet and they moved wordlessly to the concealed doorway on the far wall that would have once served as the servants staircase. With only Kreacher and Dobby now fulfilling that role, both of whom could apparate to anywhere they wished, the hidden stairs now proved largely redundant. As such, they had taken to using it frequently, both as something of a short cut, and as a place they could be assured some..._private_ time.

Too narrow to walk side by side, Harry slid his hand out of Hermione's and gestured for her to take the lead as he pushed the concealed door aside with his other hand.

Grateful that the staircases light fixtures were not so bright as the hurt her eyes once more, Hermione entered the dimly lit space and began her decent, only the creaks and groans of the ancient structure filling the air as the wound their way down several flights in companionable silence, both their thoughts filled with the same questions:

Assuming that Dumbledore had indeed located the ring that Hermione had identified in her vision, days end would be marked by the destruction of the fifth of Lord Voldemort's anchors to life - presuming of course that Remus and Sirius returned as planned. The former marauders had been tasked with following up a possible lead on the location of Nagini and had taken the sword with them on the off chance that their intelligence proved to be accurate. The possible destruction of two more of Voldemort's Horcruxes, whilst certainly a cause for celebration, did however raise the uncomfortable question of how many more there might be.

Dumbledore she knew, believed there to be seven, a number he had arrived at based both on the numbers magical connotations but also his knowledge of the young Tom Riddle. Meaning, that aside from the pieces they believed had been implanted in Nagini and the ring, only the fragment within Voldemort himself remained.

It was plausible, probable even, that the professor was correct; seven after all was an extremely powerful magical number, but Hermione simply couldn't shake the nagging feeling that they were missing something. It was, for want of a better term, _too easy_.

A thunderclap of sound rent through the air interrupting her silent musings, the crack of apparition magnified tenfold in the echoing confines of the stairwell. So too were the unmistakable sounds that followed quickly on it's heels; those of someone staggering around, obviously in a great deal pain, the clattering of pots and pans accompanied by several anguished pleas for assistance.

Not pausing to so much as glance at Harry, Hermione quickened her stride and all but sprinted down the remaining creaking stairs with Harry's thundering footsteps at her heels, plunging through the door to the too bright kitchen almost without breaking stride.

Skidding to a halt, Hermione's brown eyes raced across the scene before her, her breath catching in her throat as she did so. She hadn't quite known what to expect when she had heard the pained pleas for help, but it had certainly not been this.

Sprawled on the floor before the fireplace lay Albus Dumbledore, his skin as pale and immaterial looking as the ghosts who walked the halls of his school.

"Professor!" exclaimed Harry, sidestepping past Hermione and the many cooking pots that had clattered to the ground before dropping to his knees. Placing his conjoined index and middle fingers to the headmasters neck, his brows pinched together for a moment before his curt nod indicated he had located the pulse he had obviously been searching for.

"Pl-ease." Dumbledore's faltering plea was not, Hermione noted, directed at either her or Harry. Instead his unfocused and unblinking gaze was riveted to something apparently only he could see.

"Who are you talking to Professor?" Hermione asked, disturbed, not only by the headmaster's condition, but also by the tone of his voice; she had never heard him sound afraid before.

"P-please stay, Aria-na," he added, forcing the last word past his dry lips on a feeble and rattling breath.

"Ariana?" Hermione prompted, more for her own benefit that the headmasters whom she now felt certain was unaware of her presence; the professor appeared only semi-conscious at best. As she allowed the unusual but conversely strangely familiar name to roll across her tongue, an image of a girl, perhaps just old enough to be called a young woman, appeared unbidden in her minds eye. She wore a pretty, if decidedly old fashioned, blue dress, had wavy shoulder length blonde hair and piercing blue eyes.

Having experienced several similar moments of, for want of a better term, Deja Vu, since she had assimilated her futures selves magical core three months previously, she instantly recognised the flash of mental imagery as that of a future memory attempting to assert itself. Whilst circumstance prevented her from meditating to expand on the vestigial memory, she did file it away for later consideration, certain that it was important in some manner.

"He's as cold as ice, Hermione," interjected Harry, pulling the headmasters head onto his lap to form a makeshift pillow. "We haven't got time for this now," he said having obviously shared her snatch of memory. "We've got to help him!" His voice had taken on the timbre of command thus masking some of his obvious panic and concern, a single word travelling across the path of their bond as her locked his green eyes on hers; _Pomfrey_.

Recognising the truth of his statement, Hermione nodded her agreement and made for the fireplace intent of placing a floo call to the school matron. But before she had so much as taken a stride towards the fireplace she was pulled up short, as, with a seemingly tortuous effort, Dumbledore managed to raise his right hand from the tiled floor, his voice barely audible as he uttered three disjointed syllables; "Se-ver-us."

Hermione felt the bile rise into her throat; the headmasters hand, now resting on his weakly expanding chest appeared blackened, almost rotten, the necrotic flesh radiating outward from a ring which he wore on his third finger. The very ring, in fact, that Hermione had seen in her vision and which Dumbledore had volunteered to retrieve.

Understanding that the professor had obviously fallen foul of a dark curse of some sort, Hermione threw herself towards the fireplace, gathered a rough handful of silvery powder in her hand, a bellowed "Severus Snape's office!" as she hurled the powder into the flames, shoving her head over the grate without pause.

If the situation had not been so grim, Hermione might have taken the time to note how peculiar the sensation of placing a floo call was. She could still feel the cold of Sirius's tiled kitchen floor permeating through the fabric of her jeans, but, at the same time her head felt like it was spinning on some insanely fast merry-go-round. Remembering to keep her eyes firmly shut against the whirling ash and snatched views into other peoples homes, Hermione only chanced re-opening them again once the dizzying sensation had ceased and found herself looking out into an unfamiliar, darkened, and apparently completely deserted room.

Hermione did not know the location of Snapes private office, but from the smaller circumference of the circular room in comparison to Dumbledore's study she deduced that it must have been located in one of the castles many smaller turrets which branched off of the main towers sporadically. A cluttered desk was situated at the rooms centre whilst a curving staircase on her right led up to a mezzanine level which surely served as the potion masters bedroom.

_He's not here!_ she realised in panic, straining her neck as far as it would go in all directions to check every part of the room. "Professor Snape!" she shouted, hoping against hope that the professor was indeed upstairs and out of her line of sight, her voice echoing bizarrely in both the empty office before her and the kitchen where the rest of her body still knelt, but her only response was a lengthening silence.

She was just about to pull her head out of the fire and give up, her mind already ablaze with a list of other people she could call on for help, when a door she hadn't noticed before hidden in the shadows of the far side of the room swung open, the potion master stepping into view a moment later eliciting a feeling of relief Hermione never expected she would be able to associate with setting eyes on the often vindictive Slytherin head-of-house.

"Granger?" Snape's voice, perhaps sensing her panic, held only a little of the disdain his voice usually dripped with when he addressed her directly. "What is wrong?"

"It's Dumbledore, professor," she explained hurriedly. "He's hurt. I think he's been cursed by the..._you-know-what_," she added, deciding only at the last moment not to mention the Horcrux over the less than secure Floo Network.

Snape nodded his understanding, a single jerky movement of his chin. "Step back," he ordered, "I am coming through."

Forgetting, in her hurried withdrawal from the fireplace, to close her eyes, Hermione coughed and gagged on the hot ashes as she pulled her head from the flames, her eyes burning for the second time that evening as she tumbled backwards out of the grate.

A moment later the fire flared green once more, depositing Professor Snape into their midsts. "What has happened here?" he demanded without preamble, his black eyes sweeping across the vista before him, pausing only briefly on the headmasters withered hand before coming to rest on Hermione who had fallen inelegantly on her rear after extracting herself from the fire.

"I-I don't know," she stammered. "We just found him like this."

Offering only a curt nod by way of reply, the professor pushed his robe sleeves up to his elbows and dropped to his knees next to the prone headmaster whose face was now screwed up as if he were experiencing a particularly unpleasant dream, pained whimpers leeching past his pale lips.

A detached piece of Hermione's mind watched with interest as Professor Snape went to work, a series of incomprehensible incantations spilled from Snapes barely moving lips as his wand worked in intricate patterns over Dumbledore's chest, his dark brows knitting together in commingled concentration and concern. Hermione recognised enough of the spell work to deduce that the former death eater had elected not to attempt to cure the headmaster immediately, but instead appeared to be attempting to draw out, or else bind the curse that had infested Dumbledore's hand before it could threaten the rest of his body.

After what felt like a lifetime, but conversely no time at all, Snape sat back on his haunches, beads of perspiration visible on his pallid brow. "I have done all I can," he stated, his tone carrying no clue as to whether he believed his ministrations had been successful or not. "I have trapped the curse in that one hand for the time being - "

"But there's got to be something more that you can do!" exclaimed Harry.

"As I have said Potter, I have done all that _I_ can. I will require assistance if we are to save the headmasters life."

Both Harry and Hermione gave matching nods but said nothing.

"I have been unable to remove the source of the curse from the headmaster's hand," explained Snape gesturing towards the ring. "The Horcrux within appears to have constricted the band. I believe we must destroy the piece of the Dark Lords soul which resides inside if we are to have any hope. Have the elf retrieve the sword from Lupin and Black."

Recognising that this was probably not the time to pick a fight regarding elvish rights, Hermione squelched her disgust at Snape's reference to Dobby as 'the elf' and called for the little House-elf by name, the diminutive creature appearing before her an instant later, his green eyes widening as his gaze fell upon the stricken form of Professor Dumbledore.

"Dobby," said Harry who was still knelt on the floor supporting Dumbledore's head. "I need you to go and find Remus and Sirius for me. Bring them back here straight away and make sure they have the sword with them."

Dobby nodded his head causing his large ears to flap wildly before promptly disappearing, presumably, Hermione reasoned, to Sirius and Remus's last known location near Carlise.

"I will also require Madame Pomfrey's expertise."

Understanding that the professor's words were more an order than a request, Hermione nodded and called for Kreacher, the elderly House-elf having grown eminently more likeable in the past month.

"How can Kreacher serve?" he croaked, bowing low as he apparated into the kitchen.

"I need you to go to Hogwarts for me, Kreacher. Fetch Madame Pomfrey. Tell her to bring her medical supplies."

Kreacher bowed a second time, the tips of his sagging ears all but touching the floor. "I live to serve," he said before disappearing with a loud pop.

"Professor?" asked Harry, breaking the silence that had descended following the two House-elves departures before it could move into uncomfortable levels. "Do you think it would be safe to move Professor Dumbledore now? The floor is freezing."

Snapes eyes narrowed in apparent consideration for a moment before agreeing, levitating the headmasters body onto a stretcher he had conjured a moment beforehand. "I believe the dining room could be made most comfortable, Granger," he added as both he and Harry crouched to lift their respective handles.

Understanding what the professor was requesting, Hermione went on ahead, climbed the narrow staircase that led out of the basement kitchen and turned left into the formal dining room. By the time Harry appeared, backing through the doorway, Hermione had successfully transfigured the large table into an almost exact replica of one of the hospital beds in Hogwarts infirmary.

"Satisfactory," stated Snape as he emerged from behind the door frame carrying the foot end of the stretcher.

Resisting the urge to smile, (a comment of satisfactory from the potion master was akin to scoring straight O's at NEWT potions) Hermione assisted them in lowering the headmaster onto the bed, and opened her mouth with the intention of wondering aloud how much longer it would be before Kreacher and Dobby returned.

But instead of her query, a scream of agony exploded from Dumbledore's mouth; the noise echoing loudly in the high ceilinged room, his eyes flying open once more, wide and unblinking.

"The curse has strengthened," spat Snape, his tone conveying his anger at himself for not having suspected as much sooner as he bent once more to the task of halting the dark magic. "I do not know how long I can impede its progress."

"Professor!" called Harry, taking the headmasters face in his hands. "You've got to hold on, sir."

But Dumbledore evidently could not hear him, whatever inner demons that tormented him blinding him to his surroundings.

"Don't hurt them, don't hurt them, please, PLEASE! It's my fault, hurt me instead!"

"_Albus_!"

Harry and Hermione's head spun toward the source of the unmistakable thick brogue that could be no one other than Professor McGonagall, the sound of her arrival obviously drowned out by Dumbledore's anguished screams. She was flanked on either side by Kreacher and Madame Pomfrey who was clutching a full to bursting medical bag.

Releasing her grip on Kreachers wrinkled hand, the deputy headmistress hurried towards the prone form of Albus Dumbledore, concern colouring her expression as she took the headmasters uninjured hand in hers. "I was speaking with Poppy when Kreacher arrived," she said, explaining her unexpected arrival as Madame Pomfrey bustled up behind her.

"What do we have, Severus?" demanded Madame Pomfrey in what Hermione recognised as her command voice she used frequently students - Harry in particular.

Looking up for the first time since the newcomers had arrived, Snape ceased his ministrations and locked his dark eyes on the school matron offering an almost imperceptible shake of his head in response to the silent conversation which passed between them, presumably, Hermione reasoned, declining Madame Pomfrey's unspoken request that he defer to her expertise.

"Alone, neither one of us have sufficient skills," he stated coolly, confirming Hermione's hunch. "However, if we pool our talents until Lupin and Black arrive we may be able to prolong the headmasters life."

Hermione had no time to analyse the professor's choice of wording, as, as if on cue, a second crack split the air, the figures of Remus Lupin, Dobby and Sirius Black appeared from thin air before them, leaving her to ponder whether the potion master had deliberately ommited the words _'save_ the headmaster's life' from his previous statement in another time.

Without so much as a single word, Sirius unsheathed the silver cross which hung on his belt and handed it over to Snape who immediately trained the pointed blade on the ring.

"Noooo!" moaned Dumbledore and snatched his blackened hand away preventing Snape from making the killing blow.

"Hold him down!" snarled the potion master, the six Order members and two House-elf's hastening to comply with his instruction, Harry and Hermione taking a shoulder each whilst Madame Pomfrey, McGonagall, Remus and Sirius took hold of his arms and legs respectively, effectively pinning to the soft mattress.

But before Snape could re-centre the swords tip the curious etching on the rings surface - a circle, ensnared within a triangle, dissected by a vertical line, glowed a brilliant and blinding white, followed by the grotesque sight of an obviously humanoid figure ballooning out of the ring. One which coalesced into the figure of a young girl who towered over all of them, her feet still rooted in the rings stone.

Hermione inhaled sharply as she realised two things simultaneously:

Firstly, she now recognised her as the same girl she had seen in her minds eye earlier that evening; a girl she now recalled as Ariana Dumbledore, Professor Dumbledore's younger sister. Yet how she came to stand before them now was something Hermione knew she was unqualified to even so much as speculate on; Ariana, her elder selves memories assured her, had been deceased for almost a century.

Secondly, and even more confusingly, Hermione now came to realised that Ariana had been with them all evening, her memories having somehow been augmented with the image of the teenager in the kitchen with them, despite Hermione's complete certainty that they had been alone at the time - a quick glance towards Harry confirming that she was not alone in her sudden influx of new mental imagery.

This however, was not the same innocent and frightened young girl that Hermione could now 'remember' kneeling at her brothers side with tears in her eyes, or the same sister who had joined with Harry in pleading with Professor Snape to do more to save her brothers life.

No, this Ariana bore only a passing resemblance to that girl, her soft expression replaced with a look of pure malice, her piercing eyes no longer blue like her elder siblings, but red and reptilian like those of Tom Riddle after he had mutilated his soul.

"You caused my death once, Albus," taunted the Ariana avatar. "Surely you do not wish to be responsible for it again?"

"I-I didn't mean for you to die! I tried to protect you!"

"Hold him still!" repeated Snape, ignoring Dumbledore's shouted reply.

"You were never there for me," continued Ariana. "Where were you when our mother died? Where were you when our father was sent Azkaban?" she taunted, revelling in the pain her words caused. "Albus Dumbledore; excelled at everything, save for the one thing that truly matters - _family_. Always second best to your brother in that regard."

The headmaster screamed as if his insides were on fire. "I should have died!" he yelled at the ceiling. "I wish I were dead!"

"Severus," prompted Professor McGonagall pleadingly, as she wrestled Dumbledore's curse hand back into position under the blade. "You must do it now."

A wicked grinned formed on the Riddle-Ariana's lips. "But you can protect me now, Albus," she crooned. "Keep me safe from those who wish me harm."

Hermione fought the urge to recoiled from her hold on the headmaster as Dumbledore's blue eyes flashed crimson.

"Destroy them now and together we can reunite the Hallows...for the greater good."

"NOOOO!"

Almost before the last words had left the Riddle-Ariana's lips, Dumbledore, with a surprising show of strength for one of such advanced years, had broken free of his restrainers grips and lunged for the sword. But, far from turning it upon his comrades, instead he brought it swiftly downwards onto his own injured hand, stabbing the tip into the stone.

As if watching an earthquake in miniature, a fissure appeared at the point of impact and quickly spread across the whole stone, a terrifying and ear splitting scream ripping through the air as the visage of Ariana Dumbledore disappeared before them in a cloud of black smoke.

With the Horcrux silenced, the clang of metal on wooden floorboards filled the void of sound as the sword of Gryffindor slipped from Professor Dumbledore's limp hand and clattered to the floor, the frail headmaster collapsing back onto his bed looking weaker than Hermione had ever seen him.

"Albus?" prompted Professor McGonagall gently, but she was to receive no answer.

Whilst the madness had clearly left his eyes, now blue and clear once more, the overwhelming grief evident in his expression which replaced it was almost more heartbreaking to behold as the most powerful wizard of the century curled himself up into a foetal position, his body racked with inconsolable tears of anguish.

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><p><em>AM - I know I already apologised at the top, but I just hope the wait was worthwhile._

_As for the final product, I did toy with the idea of having a chapter focusing on each of the Horcruxes destruction, but in the end I chose to stick to my original outline as neither the cup or the diadem would be massively different from canon, so they warranted little chapter space. _

_The ring on the other hand I felt deserved more attention - we know so little from canon (other than he put it on and got cursed) so this was my slightly more dramatic take on it which also had the added advantage of introducing the Hallows and Dumbledore's back story to Harry and Hermione. As to why he was more affected this time around? He didn't get the ring off as quickly as in canon allowing the horcrux to see into his soul and torment him with images of his dead sister making him very reluctant to remove the ring even hough it meant certain death._

_I should also give a nod not only to JKR but also the script writers of Deathly Hallows Part II, most of the Helena Ravenclaw scene having been shamelessly...er...'borrowed' from there._

_Finally, not a disclaimer, but a thanks; to Katesmom2, Harmony Lover, Romantic Silence and Namedawesome for listening to me moan! Thanks guys and gals._

_Oh, and the chapter title is a shortened version of the epitaph Dumbledore had inscribed on Ariana's headstone: Where your treasure is, there will be your heart also._

_Till next time peeps. _

_Wings._


	18. Chapter 18 Penance

_A/N - For those of you reading multiple fics, there is a recap of the story so far bellow my author musings (sounds much better than author notes, right?) at the bottom of this chapter to help you remember exactly what has occurred so far._

_Disclaimer: But MUUUUM! I don't wanna tell everyone I'm not smart enough to have come up with Potter all by myself._

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><p><strong>Chapter Eighteen – Penance <strong>

"You wanted to see us, sir?" asked Harry, gently rapping his knuckles on the door frame frame as he gingerly pushed the headmasters bedroom door open an inch allowing a shaft of sunlight to spill over the threshold and into the dark hall.

"Indeed I did, Harry," came Dumbledore's steady reply, his voice slightly muffled, coming, as it was, from behind the still mostly closed door. "Please, come in."

Complying with Dumbledore's invitation, Harry grasped the door handle and pushed it aside, Hermione initially following at his heels before overtaking him as he paused to close the bedroom door behind them, a sensation of unaccountable nervousness worrying at her insides as she came to a halt a few strides into the large room.

No one seemed able, or perhaps more accurately, willing, to enlighten them regarding Dumbledore's condition, and she found herself unable to lift her eyes to meet Dumbledore's expectant gaze, her focus instead on the details of the room.

She had never been in this room before, but she knew that it had once belonged to Sirius's parents. The large room was decorated, as much of Sirius's ancestral home, in hues of deep emerald, the fixtures and fittings invariably silver, presumably in homage to the house of Salazar Slytherin into which nearly all of the Black family had been sorted for generations. A Mona Lisa smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she took in the well appointed space as she recognised the signs of Dobby's handiwork; not a single particle of dust was visible in the suns early morning light as it streamed through the sash windows situated either side of the large four poster bed creating two squares of light on the plush carpeting.

Aside from the headmaster who lay in the bed which dominated the room, it's curtains partially drawn thus shrouding him in shadow, only one other person occupied the space; Madame Pomfrey, and Hermione felt her gaze harden as her eyes met those of the Hogwarts stalwart who had glanced up in response to Harry's request to enter.

Following the destruction of the Horcrux which had both cursed and tormented the now frail headmaster, Madame Pomfrey had all but herded both teens from the make-shift triage that Hermione had created in the dining room, despite their loud and vociferous protests that they should be permitted to remain.

_She was only doing her job,_ practical Hermione pointed out truthfully, and she quickly schooled her features to hide what she now recognised as an irrational, albeit involuntary, emotional response. After all, it was not as if she and Harry alone had been singled out, the school matron had also ejected McGonagall, Remus and Sirius shortly thereafter once she had garnered their assistance in moving her newest patient to one of the bedrooms on the second floor.

Only Snape had been granted permission to remain, and, as evening had slowly given way to night, the remaining order members had one by one given into a restless slumber as they waited for news in the comfortable surroundings of number twelve's drawing room.

It was certainly not the manner in which she had envisioned spending her first full night with Harry, never-the-less Hermione was very grateful for his comforting presence, both through the small hours of the morning when he had simply held her close knowing that any assurances he murmured to her would ring hollow, and again this morning, when, just a few short moments ago they had been awoken by Professor Snape.

It had been a little after eight in the morning, according to the carriage clock on the mantle, when the potion master had roused them from their make-shift bed on the long couch they often occupied for Order meetings. The soft, almost caring tone of his words ensuring that Hermione immediately feared the worse as her eyelids fluttered open in response to the sound of his voice.

The Professor was crouched before her, his features displaying more emotion than Hermione could ever recall seeing on his usually impassive face. His black eyes were shadowed by equally dark circles beneath which spoke to the fact that he had rested little, if at all, through the night, and shone, not, as was usual, with a degree of malevolent indifference, but with a quiet sorrow instead.

"The headmaster wishes to see you both," he informed her, the constriction she felt around her heart abating somewhat as she realised the implications of Snape's words. Dumbledore was alive_...for now_. She couldn't help but add the silent quantifier as she and Harry hurried to follow his billowing robes as he swept from the room.

Behind her the door clicked shut pulling Hermione's thoughts back to the present and was followed a moment later by a gentle pressure on the small of her back as Harry exerted enough force to guide her further into the room with the palm of his hand.

"Poppy?" inquired Dumbledore softly as his guests drew closer. "May I ask for a moment alone with Harry and Hermione?"

Pomfrey pursed her lips, her hands settling on her hips in a fair, if unwitting impression, of the matriarch of the Weasley clan.

"I ask for your indulgence," Dumbledore added in response to her withering look.

"You are not to over exert yourself," she said sternly after a moment of silent consideration before flashing a warning glance towards Harry and Hermione now hovering at the foot of the bed, eliciting two wordless nods of agreement. "But as I do need to confer with some colleagues of mine before we decide on a treatment plan," she continued apparently thinking aloud, "you can have until I return."

"That would be most agreeable, Poppy," replied Dumbledore cheerfully enough, but his eyes flashed with an emotion Hermione struggled to place immediately. Was it frustration in his new found subservient role?

Without another word, and showing no indication that she had registered the subtle shift in Dumbledore's demeanour, Madame Pomfrey spun on her heel and disappeared with a loud crack.

Apparently surprised at his good fortune, Dumbledore quickly composed himself and turned his head from the now empty spot beside his bed to face his visitors, propping himself up on the multitude of pillows behind him bringing his face into the sunlight and out of the shadows.

If one could ignore the sight of the blackened hand and forearm that rested uselessly atop the bed covers, Dumbledore looked much as he always did; the expression behind his long silvery beard serene as always, his half moon glasses perched upon his crooked nose directing his piercing blue gaze towards the new arrivals. But there was something missing that Hermione couldn't quite put her finger on, it was almost as if the headmaster appeared somehow smaller than before; _diminished_ in some manner.

"Ah, Harry, Hermione," he offered by way of greeting, his jovial tone showing little evidence of the ordeal he had suffered the previous evening. Noting the lack of chairs for his visitors, he added, "Somewhere to sit perhaps?" and made to reach for his wand which lay to his left on the bedside table but winced in obvious pain as he attempted to do so with his injured arm.

"It's okay, sir," put in Hermione, hoping the pity she felt for the aged wizard was not evident in her tone. "I can do that."

With practised ease she manipulated her own wand, a comfortable two person couch materializing beside the headmasters bed a moment later.

Apparently completely unoffended, Dumbledore cast an appraising eye over the newly created couch, and, finding no flaws with the teenagers magic waved his good hand towards it a moment later in an obvious invitation to sit; an invitation which Hermione silently accepted.

"How are you, sir?" Harry asked as he too acquiesced and slid onto the sofa next to her, putting words to the question Hermione had thus far been unable to voice. "No one would tell us anything."

"As well as can be expected, Harry," replied Dumbledore, his tone devoid of inflection; it was, Hermione noted, quite unsettling. "Severus informs me that I have perhaps an outside chance of living to see Christmas."

"_What?_ No!" Harry was on his feet, indignant on the headmasters behalf. "There's - there's got to be more that he can do - more _someone_ can do for you, sir. What about Madame Pomfrey?"

Pursing his lips, Dumbledore bobbed his head to the side, an expression that spoke of his belief that Harry was clutching at straws. "Poppy is still hopeful that another avenue will present itself," he agreed lifting his blackened arm from the bedding to examine it with a look of detached scientific curiosity. "She believes that alternative therapies may hold the key..."

But Hermione barely registered his words, a tight knot of anxiety having formed in her stomach, as she wondered, and not for the first time since the headmasters injury, whether all this had happened before in the other timeline?_ Perhaps, _she caught herself thinking dejectedly_, I could have protected him if I had been able to extract more details from my elderselves memories._

Forcing her growing feelings of guilt to the back of her mind, Hermione refocused her attention on Dumbledore, whom she now noted had continued speaking; "...In fact she has just left to consult with her muggle counterparts regarding a practise I believe is called..._amputation_."

The disquieting detachment with which Dumbledore displayed with regards to his now impending, and very real mortality, pulled Hermione features into a frown of concern for his mental well-being. The Kübler-Ross model, she knew, postulated five stages of grief, and whilst she and Harry were bogged down in anger and denial respectively, the headmaster appeared to have skipped straight to the final stage of acceptance without pause.

"However," Dumbledore continued without pausing for breath, derailing Hermione's train of thought, "I can feel the truth of Severus's words. My death was assured the moment I placed that ring on my finger, and no treatment, muggle or magical, can alter that fact."

His tone continued to be conversational, light even, but if anything that made his announcement all the more difficult to cope with and Hermione felt hot tears prickling at her eyelids. _Why did he put on that ring?_ She thought hopelessly, her grief and guilt threatening to overwhelm her in equal measures. _Why did he even touch it? Why isn't he more angry?_

Much of her internal conflict must have shown on her face, for the headmaster responded as if she had spoken aloud. "Please do not think yourself responsible, Miss Granger," he urged. "The error was mine, and mine alone."

_Is this why I can't meet Dumbledores eyes? _she wondered, realising that she had still to fully meet the headmasters gaze since entering the room._ Do I truly feel responsible?_ But even as the question formed in her mind, a quick review of her feelings over the previous twelve hours told her that it was the truth; she did indeed feel a deep sense of culpability for the headmasters condition.

Unable to put off the moment any longer, Hermione lifted her eyes towards the bed and found the professors sapphire eyes searching her face imploringly.

"I was a fool...sorely tempted..." he assured her, his words eliciting a wan smile but not the nod of acceptance he obviously desired.

"I'm not sure I understand, sir." Harry's voice cut through the palpable silence that threatened to stretch between them. "Tempted by what?"

For a moment Dumbledore appeared as if he would not answer, his gaze focused on some unseen point. "As I said Harry, I was tempted..." he said at length but did not immediately expand on what he meant. To Harry's credit, he did not push further, perhaps sensing the headmaster had more to add.

He was correct;

"Tempted, Harry, by the power the ring could offer."

Hermione felt her brow knit together as her logical mind wondered what possible power an item they knew to be a Horcrux, the very darkest of magical items, could have possessed to have made the headmaster touch something that he surely suspected would carry some form of protection. She said as much aloud.

"As you say, Miss Granger, the ring was indeed a Horcrux. However I recognised it as something else entirely; something I spent a great deal of my earlier life searching for. The ring, or more accurately, the stone set within it, is an ancient magical object known as the resurrection stone..."

Understanding bloomed in Hermione's brown eyes. After all it didn't take a genius to figure out the function of an object so named, and, coupled with the appearance of Dumbledore's long dead sibling the previous evening led her to the only possible motivation for Dumbledore to place such a potentially dangerous object on his finger. "You wanted to see your sister again." Her words were voiced as a statement of fact and not a question.

The corners of Dumbledore's lips turned downwards as he considered her statement. "Yes," he conceded, "and no." Hermione was startled to see tears suddenly well up in the headmaster's sapphire eyes, his aura of calm acceptance of his condition now just a fleeting memory, his appearance now as that of a young child caught in an act of wrong doing.

For a long moment it seemed to Hermione that he would say no more, his eyes focused on some unseen point above both of their heads. "Do you remember, Harry, when you asked me what I saw when I looked into the Mirror of Erised?" he asked eventually, his voice now little more than a whisper.

Harry nodded. "New socks," he replied without hesitation although confusion was clearly etched on his features.

A mirthless chuckle escaped Dumbledore's lips. "If only my desires were so humble," he said with a rueful shake of his head. "No, as you no doubt inferred at the time, Harry, that was a lie. What I truly witness each time I gaze into the mirror is my family; whole and complete once more."

By way of explanation, Dumbledore reached beneath the folds of his robes with his good hand and extracted a small brown object about the size of a muggle wallet which he lay on the bed before him.

"Miss Granger, if you would be so kind," he prompted, and, understanding the headmasters unspoken request, Hermione touched the tip of her wand to what she now saw was small book, bound in tortoiseshell, her touch rewarded with a soft metallic click of a lock unfastening.

Fumbling slightly with the latch with his unfavoured left hand, Dumbledore flicked the book open to the front page and spun it to face Hermione and Harry. "Ariana you have _met_," he said indicating the photograph displayed within, his voice faltering over the last word as if unsure of the accuracy of such a statement.

The photograph was clearly very old and, its sepia tones faded and cracked, its magic all but exhausted meaning the magically recorded scene was all but frozen, however there was no mistaking the subject; Ariana Dumbledore. She had the same kind eyes and wavy shoulder length hair as the young girl who's presence both she and Harry had become aware of yesterday evening.

"And these," Dumbledore added turning the page, "are my parents; Kendra and Percival Dumbledore." He pointing a long, age spotted finger at each figure in turn.

A surreal image of Christmas with her elderly grandparents entered Hermione's mind unbidden and she suppressed the ridiculous urge to giggle at the similarities of the moments. Whilst she felt certain that this was not simply an exercise in reminiscing as it had been for her grandmother, she equally couldn't see the point Dumbledore was trying to make. However, from the way both the headmasters voice and hand trembled slightly as he showed them his photographic memories, she knew it was causing him further discomfort, something Harry had obviously also picked up on for he said;

"You don't have to show us these if it's too difficult for you, sir."

"I disagree," said Dumbledore calmly although the was no mistaking the conviction behind his words. "As I wish neither of you to be burdened by the guilt of my condition - " He raised his voice over the tumultuous noise that had erupted from both Harry and Hermione's mouths with protests to the contrary; protests all three knew to be false. " - it is imperative that you understand," he concluded, both Harry and Hermione falling silent upon his final words.

Taking their silence as an invitation to continue, Dumbledore took a breath and resumed his explanations. "When I was a child, my family and I lived in the village of Mould-on-the-Wold, and, whilst mostly a wizarding community, a number of muggle families resided on it's outskirts.

"When Ariana was six years old, three Muggle boys who were spying through the garden hedge, witnessed her displaying a bout of accidental magic. They forced themselves into the garden and demanded that she show them her tricks. But she was just a child. She could no more control it that you or I could prevent the sun from rising."

"They hurt her, didn't they, sir?" deduced Hermione in a barely audible voice.

In lieu of a verbal response, Dumbledore managed a single shaky nod of agreement, his blue eyes no longer able to contain the treacherous tears he had thus far held back and the flowed freely down his wrinkled face, and he settled back on his pillows, his features once again slipping into the shadows cast by the half drawn curtains

"My father was enraged," continued Dumbledore after a momentary pause to compose himself, "he sought out the boys bent on revenge, and when he found them, he - he attacked them." The headmaster hung his head in shame at the admission. "He was sentenced to life in Azkaban and later died there."

Hermione couldn't think of a single word of comfort she could give the headmaster, knowing as she did, that only the use of an unforgivable curse could have garnered Dumbledore's father a life sentence for that single offence.

"My mother relocated us shortly before I began at Hogwarts," Dumbledore continued, his revelations either proving to be cathartic to him, or else he was unable to stop now he had opened the flood gates, "but Ariana was never the same. She was traumatized so badly that she refused to ever use her magic again. Instead she pushed it deep within herself, and for the most part was a kind, if shy girl."

_But_, Hermione prompted silently.

"But she was emotionally unstable, unable to control her temper, at such times her core would destabilise leading to powerful bouts of unintentional magic. During one such episode when my sister was fourteen and my mother was unable to calm her, her rage built to such a point that there was some sort of magical explosion at our home; one which cut short my mothers life."

Across their bond, Hermione could sense the empathy Harry now felt towards the headmaster as he realised that both he and Dumbledore had been orphaned as children. But his feelings of kinship towards the elderly wizard must have also shown on his face for Dumbledore interjected.

"Do not feel too sorry for me, Harry," he counselled, "I resented my new role as head of the family. I had just finished school, I was gifted, brilliant, some said. I wanted to escape. I wanted to shine. I wanted glory."

It seemed that Dumbledore forced himself to look directly at both Harry and Hermione in turn.

"Do not misunderstand me," he continued, a pain crossing his face making him look more ancient than ever. "I loved them, but when my mother died and I was left responsible for a damaged sister and a wayward brother, I returned to my village in anger and bitterness. Trapped! Wasted, I thought. And then, of course, he came..."

Subconsciously, Hermione found herself leaning forward slightly in anticipation, a posture she noted as she shot a quick glance to her side, was mimicked by Harry.

"Gellert Grindelwald."

A thousand questions formed in Hermione's mind, each one clamouring for her full attention, but it was Harry who managed to form a coherent sentence first. "You knew Grindelwald as a child?"

"Sadly, yes," admitted the weary looking headmaster. "And it was my friendship with the young man who would later become as feared as Voldemort is today which led to the death of my sister.

"He came to visit his Great Aunt, Bathilda Bagshot, who also lived in our village, and oh, you cannot image how his ideas caught me, inflamed me. We were to be the leaders of a new magical revolution, muggles subservient to us, the master race!"

"No," whispered Hermione, unable to comprehend what she was hearing, a detached part of her slightly surprised to note that she had spoken aloud. Dumbledore, the leader of the light, vanquisher of the dark wizard, Grindelwald, leader of resistance against Voldemort, had, at one time agreed with him? No, it was worse than that, she realised, he had actively supported him. To her right, she noted Harry had paled as he too came to the same conclusions.

"Oh, I had a few scruples," continued Dumbledore, apparently unaware, or perhaps uncaring, of the new light in which both Harry and Hermione now regarded him in. "But I assuaged my concerns with empty promises. It would all be for the greater good, any harm done would be repaid a hundredfold once we had established our new world order!"

_For the Greater Good_: Hermione's stomach lurched into her throat as she recalled those four words as having been Grindelwald's slogan, his excuse for all of the atrocities he performed, and Dumbledore had..._given him the idea?_ Who was this man she had so admired since her arrival in the magical world?

Dumbledore lent forward, his sapphire gaze beseeching them to understand, and when he continued his tone was contrite and Hermione knew that he had truly spent a lifetime of penance for his actions as a youth. "And at the heart of our schemes, the Deathly Hallows. Alone, objects of great power, but, if legend were to be believed, if the three were unified they would make the bearer 'The master of death', which we took to mean invincible.

"The Elder wand: Unbeatable, the tool that would bring us to power," he explained ticking the item off on one long finger. "The resurrection stone - " he ticked off another finger. "To him, although I pretended not to know it, it meant an army of the undead. To me, it meant the return of my parents and a lifting of all responsibility. Finally - " a third finger joined his index and middle digits, " - the Cloak of invisibility.

"Together, the Deathly Hallows of myth, forged by death himself."

Hermione's eye line followed the headmasters' as his gaze slid towards the bed side table where his ornate wand still lay and her eyes widened in sudden understanding. "The Unbeatable wand! You found it?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed, Miss Granger. Although it was not me who found it.

"For two months I allowed myself to be swept along by Grindelwalds madness, but it was my brother who forced reality back upon me. He demanded to know how I could journey to seek the Hallows with a fragile and damaged sister in tow, but I did not wish to listen to his words. The argument became a fight, and the fight became a duel as Grindelwald finally showed his true colours to which I had so blinded myself towards.

"And Ariana...dear Ariana...after all my mothers dutiful car and attention...lay dead upon the floor." Dumbledore seemed to be forcing his lips to move now, the revelations of his past obviously causing him great pain.

"Grindelwald fled, leaving me to bury my sister and to learn to live with my guilt, and my terrible grief, the price of my shame.

"Years passed. There were rumours that he had acquired a wand of great power; rumours I knew, having encouraged him to seek out the power of the Hallows, to be true. But still I did not act to bring his reign of terror to an end although I knew I possessed the power.

"They say he feared me, but less, I think, that I feared him. You see I never knew which one of us had actually cast the curse that killed my sister, and I think he knew that, I think he knew what frightened me. I delayed meeting him until it would have been too shameful to resist any longer, and, well," he added with a sigh, "you know the rest..."

"So you'd given up looking for Hallows by the time you found the ring?" Harry wanted to know.

"True, Harry. I no longer sought the Hallows. I had learnt the hard way that I could not be trusted with such power; however, despite having given up on my dreams of reuniting the Hallows, one was presented to me several years before I set eyes on the ring."

"The cloak!" exclaimed Hermione as a piece of the puzzle snapped into place in her mind.

"The cloak," agreed Dumbledore. "Your fathers cloak," he explained in response to Harry's dumbfounded expression, "is in fact a Hallow. Although I had long since given up my dreams, I could not resist, I asked to borrow it, to examine it...It was a cloak the likes of which I had never seen, immensely old, perfect in every respect...and then your father died leaving me in possession of two Hallows."

"And when you found the ring?" said Harry having followed the line of reasoning to it's only logical conclusion.

"I was a fool," agreed Dumbledore bitterly. "I had learnt nothing. Yes, I hoped to see my family again, to tell them how sorry I was, but moreover I believed that if I could unite the Hallows; two of which had literally fallen into my lap, I could defeat Voldemort once and for all. I lost my head - I quite forgot the ring was now a Horcrux and probably carried a curse of protections of some sort. I picked it up and I put it on, and for a second I believed all our troubles were at an end...

"But I was a fool. Even as the pain lanced through me I knew I had learnt nothing - still as convinced of my own superiority as I had been as an arrogant child."

They sat in silence for a long while thereafter, the quiet broken eventually by Harry.

"So why don't we?"

"I'm sorry, Harry, I must confess you've lost me," admitted Dumbledore, a hint of his old good humour evident in his tone.

"Why don't we," repeated Harry. "We have all three Hallows now. Why not reunite them? Immortal or not, Voldemort cannot defeat someone who is invincible. We unite the Hallows and we destroy him!"

"No, Harry." The forcefulness of Dumbledore's words came as something of a shock to Hermione and she found herself instinctively edging backwards. "I now realise that to unite the Hallows is pure folly. No man should ever posses such absolute power, and whilst I've no doubt that you, Harry, would wield that power only for good, if the power of invincibility were to fall into the wrong hands..." The headmasters voice trailed away leaving the connotations of such an event to the imagination.

Hermione nodded her agreement, her own imagination more than up to the task of picturing the horror of a world ruled by an immortal and indestructible Dark Lord.

Aloud she said; "So we destroy them instead."

"Alas, for it to be so simple," replied Dumbledore. "I have long believed that I must die undefeated for the power of the wand to be rendered inert. Until such time as my natural passing, we must keep the three hallows separate but safe - even alone, the power Voldemort could wield with just one is too terrible to imagine."

"Ok, so what do we do with them then?" asked Harry, posing the question that had also formed on Hermione's lips.

"We keep one each," suggested the headmaster. "I will keep the wand, unless of course either of you have any objections." When both Harry and Hermione shook their heads, he continued. "Harry should of course keep the cloak..."

"And I'll protect the stone," surmised Hermione.

"Of the three of us all, I believe you are the only one strong enough not to be tempted to use it," stated Dumbledore, reaching once more into the folds of his robes, withdrawing his hand to reveal the damaged stone in his palm.

Only now did Hermione understand the true power of the stone, for despite having been struck by the sword of Gryffindor, only a crack running the length of the vertical line etched on it's surface showed any evidence that the resurrection stone had come into contact with a tool powerful enough to destroy pieces of soul. Shifting forward in her chair, Hermione removed the diamond shaped stone and pocketed it, trying to pretend that she had not seen the hungry look in Harry's eyes as she did so.

Reseating herself, Hermione found herself at a loss for words, the revelations of the past half hour whirling around her overcrowded consciousness, a state of mind apparently shared by both Harry and Dumbledore, the lengthening, and frankly uncomfortable, silence finally brought to a close by a crack of apparition as Madame Pomfrey reappeared before them.

True to her words, less than thirty seconds later, Hermione and Harry once more found themselves outside in the darkened hallway, their minds filled with many more questions than answers.

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><p><em>AM - I don't know if it was simply because a large part of the second half of the chapter comes from canon in one form or another but this chapter seemed to go on the page a lot more easily than the previous few. I guess you guys will tell me is it works. _

_I guess I should add a disclaimer here as much of the material of this chapter comes from the Kings Cross Limbo chapter in Deathly Hallows._

_Not a lot else to say really except I hope you enjoyed and feel free to review on the way out if you like (this chapter marks my first 100,000+ word story, and should see the 100,000 hits and 300 reviews mark reached. So a heartfelt thank you all of you for taking the time to read and review)._

_Till next time peeps,_

_Wings._


	19. Chapter 19 The Butterfly Effect

_A/N - For those of you reading multiple fics, there is a recap of the story so far bellow my author musings (sounds much better than author notes, right?) at the bottom of this chapter to help you remember exactly what has occurred so far._

_Disclaimer: *Checks reflection* Nope, the polyjuice still hasn't kicked in, so I'm just gonna have to fess up and admit I'm not JKR. Foreshame!_

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><p><strong>Chapter Nineteen - The Butterfly Effect<strong>

Hermione couldn't look.

Having witnessed the same scene unfold more times that she cared to count, she turned her back on the flickering fire which stood at the centre of the clearing and hung her head as she waited for the end.

_"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

From behind her, a brilliant flash of green light illuminated the forest, casting strange, distorted shadows on the knarled and twisted tree trunks which flanked her on all sides. Screwing her eyes firmly shut in a futile attempt to prevent her inner eye from providing the unwelcome mental imagery that accompanied the sound she knew must follow - that of the dead weight of a human body crumpling to the floor.

Despite her knowledge that there was a delay of less than a second between the killing curse striking Harry squarely in the chest, and the sound of his lifeless corpse hitting the compacted soil bellow, subjectively, her interal clock registered the wait for the sickening sound in aeons, lengthening her own personal torture almost beyond her ability to bare, her heart freezing in her chest as she waited for the most loathsome sound she had ever had the misfortune of hearing.

_Thud_.

Releasing the breath she had been unaware of holding, Hermione opened her eyes, her gaze immediately snapping up as she realised Harry - _her Harry_ - had moved and was now standing directly in front of her.

Even through tear clogged lashes, Hermione could see the worry he felt for her etched onto his expressive features as she lifted her eyes to meet his gaze, his dilated pupils alive, not only with the dancing fire light reflected there, but also his deep seated concern for her wellbeing.

"You said you were okay with this." His tone was devoid of the accusation that the words alone could have implied.

Hermione gave a subtle shake of her head. "How could I possibly be okay watching you die over and over again, Harry?" she asked quietly, knowing her statement to be in complete contradiction to what she had told him less than an hour beforehand when she had persuaded him of her ability to cope with the traumatic events of the future memory.

Taking a half step closer so that their chests were all but touching, Harry took hold of her shoulders, his grip firm without being painful, before gently slipping his palms down her arms until they were cupped around her own hands - both of which were balled into tight fists, her nails digging into her flesh painfully.

Feeling some of the tension leave her body as Harry caressed the back of her palms with his thumbs, Hermione relaxed the muscles of her hands and exhaled softly as Harry entwined his fingers around hers. Resting her head against his shoulder, Hermione revelled in the simple pleasure of being able to feel the thrum of his steady heartbeat in his chest, the warmth of his embrace, and the heat of his breath on the nape of her neck as he untangled their hands and wrapped his arms around her protectively.

Perversely, seeing him like this; vibrant, loving, and very much alive, was almost harder that watching the memory of his death. The knowledge that the scene unfolding behind her would be his fate unless they could succeed in altering history weighing like a millstone her neck.

_'I thought he would come ... I expected him to come._'

Behind her the memory they had been studying restarted once more, like some sort of sick approximation of a skipping muggle vinyl disk; tormenting her repetitively without ever once coming close to giving up the secrets she believe it contained.

Harry stiffened slightly at the sound of Lord Voldemort's serpentine voice, and, as Hermione lifted her chin an inch to regard him she saw, if only for a fraction of a second, the concern in Harry's eyes give way to the same haunted look he had worn the first time Hermione had told him of this memory all those months ago in the Gryffindor common room.

Then, as now, following a single bob of his Adam's apple, Harry composed himself and called over to Luna who was studying the wand in Voldemort's pale, spider-like fingers, her usual disinterested expression absent, replaced with a look of mild curiosity.

"That's enough for today I think, Luna."

The Ravenclaw's gaze snapped up, and, following an almost imperceptible nod of understanding, she screwed her eyes shut in concentration. Voldemort, the Death Eaters and the forest all around them mercifully began to blur and fade, dissolving into nothingness a few moments later, only the heavy weight Hermione felt in her heart evidence they had ever exsisted at all.

oOo

In their earliest experiments with lucid dreaming, Hermione had often found the return to the physical world to be an unsettling and confusing experience. However, it had been a very long time since she had felt quite _this_ disorientated upon awakening.

Pushing her palms into the soft mattress of the bed on which she lay, Hermione attempted to sit up, and immediately regretted her impatience. Her vision swam and the room appeared to lurch first to the left and then violently back to the right, like the wildly pitching deck of a ship on heavy seas.

Colapsing back to the mattress, Hermione closed her eyes and massaging her eyelids with the tips of her fingers in an attempt to steady her addled senses, and was relieved to feel the dizzying sensation subside so risked re-opening her eyes a crack.

She was rewarded to find the room at rest and horizontal although partially obscured as Harry's concerned face swam into focus directly above her.

"You can't keep doing this to yourself, Hermione," he said without preamble offering her a small glass vial, which, Hermione knew, having brewed it herself, contained a mild restorative. "You're as pale as the Bloody Baron!"

Placing his palm between her head and the pillow on which it rested, Harry tipped her head forward a few inches and placed the cool glass of the vial to her mouth. Obligingly, Hermione parted her lips and drained the contents of the container in one gulp and immediately felt a surge of warmth within her; one which started at her core and quickly spread to her extremities.

Nodding his head in apparent satisfaction with her improved colour, Harry offered his hand to her in an obvious invitation to sit up, which she accepted and pulled herself upright.

Gratified to note that the dizziness did not return she glanced around the room which they occupied, finding it very much as they had left it.

Since Sirius and Remus had revealed the location of the room of requirement during their hunt for Ravenclaws diadem, Harry, Hermione and Luna had taken to using the chamber as a private place in which to pursue their dream experiments, the room providing a small, cozy space with three cot-like, yet very comfortable beds on which to sleep.

"Harry's right you know," chimed in Luna, now rising from her own cot and moving around to the foot of the bed on which Hermione now perched. "You are working too hard."

_I'm fine_. Her response was almost reflexive, her lips forming the words before her mind had consciously registered them. However, something about Luna's unwavering gaze pulled Hermione up short and she swallowed her intended reply.

Truth be known, she felt exhausted. In addition to helping Harry prepare for the third task, their ongoing advanced defence classes with Remus and Sirius, _and_ end of year school examinations, both she and Harry had somehow managed to find enough time in their hectic timetables to schedule several additional sessions with Luna each week to mine her future memories for additional information.

Hermione had deliberately not analysed her motivations for undertaking such an arduous task during such a busy period in great detail. No doubt because (deep down at any rate), the logical part of her already realised that her lingering sense of culpability for the headmaster's condition was acting as something of a catalyst, driving her to review her future memories with a renewed vigour in the hopes of preventing anyone else from suffering a similar fate to that which had befallen Professor Dumbledore whilst on a mission for the Order.

It was also her hope, although she had yet to voice this particular belief aloud, that, if events in the alternative timeline had unfolded in a similar manner, it stood to reason that if any treatment to cure the curse that had afflicted the headmaster had been developed, the details of such could be locked within her mind, thus holding the key to Dumbledore's survival in this reality.

Regrettably, her subconscious appeared to have other ideas on the subject:

Despite their well honed proficiency in establishing a lucid sleep state, every single dream they had successfully initiated in the last few weeks constantly replayed the one memory Hermione had hoped never to revisit; Harry's death at the hands of Lord Voldemort.

In her darkest moments, when she would wake in the dead of night drenched in an ice cold sweat, her terrified screams echoing in the still night air, Hermione feared that the dream which haunted her was a message from her subconscious mind. One which told her that no matter what changes they made in the here and now, the wheels of fate were already in motion, leading inexorably to the confrontation between Voldemort and Harry, and ultimately leading to the death of her beloved.

_No_, her logical mind asserted as her thoughts threatened to turn melancholy once more_. Every action has a consequence. _

The imprinted memories of the other Hermione ensured that the future she witnessed in her recollections could never come to pass exactly as it had once been - too much had already been altered. And, although that did not guarantee that there would not be some unintended negative consequences (such as Dumbledore's injury), it did mean that everything they had learnt so far moved them one step further away from her nightmare of Harry's death ever becoming reality. _The butterfly effect,_ she realised recalling the phrased coined by Edward Lorenz.

"I know you thought we might learn something useful," said Harry, as if continuing her line of thought, which, she realised as she sensed the featherlight touch of his presence in her mind, he probably was. "But I think we've got to face facts. Perhaps we've simply learnt everything we can about the future."

"It is becoming quite tiresome," agreed Luna, her blunt statement offset by the concern evident in her silvery eyes.

"And I know you said you were fine with it," Harry pressed, bringing up the conversation they had had only that morning when he had tried, and ultimately failed, to convince Hermione not to put herself through the ordeal of revisiting the dream again. "But clearly you're not."

Hermione shook her head. "There has to be a reason that my subconscious keeps drawing us to the same moment," she countered imploringly. "Perhaps we've missed something. Some crucial piece of the puzzle."

Neither Harry nor Luna commented, but the knowing look they shared - one that spoke to their combined doubts on such matters, spurred Hermione into adding; "It's got to mean something..._right_?" but as her voice trailed away she recognised that, even to her own ears, her statement sounded more like a plea for assurance than anything else.

Picking up on those doubts, Harry pushed his point. "And if it does we've still got time to figure it out," he said soothingly, "but I think we should take a break ... for now," he clarified in response to her withering glare. "At least until we've finished school for the year."

Unable to muster the strength to argue, a Hermione conceded the point. "Okay, Harry. But I'm going to Owl my parents about you coming to stay in the holidays. Once we've had a proper rest we can start again. Okay?"

"Deal!" said Harry happily and sealed their agreement with a quick kiss.

Wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him into an embrace, Hermione couldn't prevent a soft smile from forming on her lips as her heart soared at the prospect of spending the whole summer with Harry.

After all, her parents had only met Harry once, albeit very briefly, at the beginning of their second year - a time when neither she or Harry had realised the depths of their feelings for one another, and Hermione could not deny that she was very excited at the prospect of introducing him to her Mum and Dad as her boyfriend...once she had broached the subject with her parents that was. Thus far she had been unable to find the right words to tell her mother and father that she was in a relationship with her best friend - a letter just felt so impersonal. But, she realised, it really was a case of now of never. She couldn't just spring such a bombshell on her parents in person. Not when she also had to find a way of bringing up the fact that, legally at least, she and Harry were a married couple.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, catching a glimpse of the hands of her watch as they broke apart forcing the problem of how to tell her parents to the back of her mind. "The History of Magic exam begins in forty minutes and we haven't even had breakfast yet!"

Quickly gathering her belongings together, Hermione scrambled to her feet and was half way to the door when she registered that neither Harry or Luna had made to follow. Turning on her heel with the intention of berating them for their lackadaisical attitude to their schooling, Hermione instead found herself speechless as her eyes met those of her bond mates; the surge of love and affection she experienced across their link almost overwhelming her, and she closed her mouth without uttering a word.

"Glad to see you're feeling better," said Harry with a smirk. His tone, though one of jest, conveying just how pleased he was to see the return of the real Hermione - _his_ Hermione.

"Just because some of us can skive off exams," she teased, matching his tone, although knowing full well that it was not Harry's wish to receive special treatment on account of his status as a Triwizard champion. "Doesn't mean the rest of us can afford to be late," she concluded, striking a pose of mock scolding by placing her hands on her hips.

"You know as well as I do, Granger - " retorted Harry, playfully addressing her by her family name " - that I've sat every exam you have."

"Perhaps. But you're the only one McGonagall has permited to skip any exam he chooses."

Whilst it was true that the deputy headmistress had initially intended to excuse Harry from all school examinations to enable him to prepare properly for the final task, Harry had declined. His stated desire to be allowed to sit his examinations and be treated in the same manner as every other student rendering Professor McGonagall all but speechless at his new found devotion to his studies and she had agreed to allow him to join his class mates, although she had left the offer on the table should the demands become overwhelming.

The corners of Harry eyes crinkled as he tried to hide his amusement, but he was unable to keep up the act any longer. "Come on then," he replied. "Can't have you sitting an exam on an empty stomach, can we?" and he gathered up his school bag and pushed up from the bed. "You coming, Luna?" He threw the question back over his shoulder as he drew level with Hermione.

"Maybe in a bit," Luna replied grabbing her bag and falling into step half a stride behind Harry and Hermione as they crossed the threshold of the magical room, the doorway disappearing behind them. "I promised to meet some friends first," she concluded, and, without another word, skipped away in the opposite direction to that of the main hall.

Harry's lips split into an infectious grin as he watched the blonde's receding back. "She's great isn't she?"

"MmmHmm," agreed Hermione, also sporting a gentle smile. "I'm just pleased her house mates have caught on to that fact," she added as arm in arm they turned on the spot and followed the distant sounds of several hundred voices drifting up the stairwell from the dining hall.

"With a little help from us of course," Harry added causing her smile to broaden as she recalled their part in Luna's improved social standing.

oOo

_"I can't believe that any member of my house could be so cruel towards another student," squeaked Professor Flitwick in dismay, the top of his head just visible above the uncluttered desk which dominated the deputy headmistress's office._

_"Well, I would suggest that not only _should_ you believe it," replied Professor McGonagall sternly, her Scottish brogue broadening in a manner which forewarned those who knew her well that her anger was just barely restrained. "But that you should identify and punish those who have perpetrated such a long term and systematic campaign of bullying against one of your students."_

_Flitwick hung his head in shame, but did not respond immediately._

_"That it should have taken three years for the matter to come to light," McGonagall continued in exasperation, fixing the tiny part Goblin with a look under which most would have withered. "And that it should have required two students from another house..." _

_Words seemed to fail the usually loquacious transfiguration mistress as she waved a distracted hand towards both Harry and Hermione who stood to one side of her desk to acknowledge their role in alerting her to the treatment Luna was subjected to on a daily basis, the couple having just finished outlining the same to Professor Flitwick._

_"Of course, Minerva," replied Flitwick still averting his gaze. "I assure you, I will find and punish those responsible."_

_"See that you do - " _

_"Actually," cut in Hermione, masking well the surprise she felt at speaking over her favourite teacher. "We might have a better suggestion."_

_Having made it their business to put a stop to the bullying suffered by the often misunderstood youngster, neither Harry or Hermione had any desire to turn Luna into a social pariah amongst her house mates by landing half of the Ravenclaws in a years worth of detentions. Stealing clothes and hiding personal possessions was one thing, but both Gryffindor's feared the outright hostility Luna might be subjected too if such severe, albeit wholly deserved punishments, were handed out without something to balance out any ill feeling which might develop amongst her house mates._

_"I'm all ears, Miss Granger," replied the Deputy Headmistress, showing no outward sign of any irritation she might have felt at the interruption as she smoothly switch her attention._

_Offering her favourite teacher a nod of thanks, Hermione gave Harry a little nudge in the ribs and he duly shuffled forward a half step. After all, having been on the receiving end of a great deal of hostility, both inside and out of his own house during his time at Hogwarts, Harry could empathise with Luna's situation better than most, it was logical therefore, Hermione had argued, that it should be he who should propose his rather unorthodox solution._

_"Well," he began, his voice faltering slightly in apparent nervousness at addressing two senior members of staff and he coughed to clear his throat before he continued. "Perhaps if Luna's fellow Ravenclaws were able to see her as a kindred spirit rather than a..." His voice trailed away to nothing as he found himself unable to complete his sentence, his inability to find a word that was not derogatory in nature to describe how most of the students at the school saw her no doubt his primary motivation for self censoring his sentence._

_Fortunately, Proffesor McGonagall appeared to understand his line of thought. "A noble aim, Mr Potter," she agreed, interjecting before the silence could stretch towards uncomfortable levels. "I presume you have a plan to achieve that goal?"_

_Obviously fortified that the deputy headmistress had not dismissed his suggestion out of hand, Harry drew a breath to continue, his voice sounding steadier and more assured when he did. _

_"Not many people believed me when I told them I didn't put my name in the Goblet of Fire last year - " Hermione barely registered the words, almost overcome by the wave of love and thanks she felt Harry direct to her through their bond. She, after all, had been one of the few who had believed Harry without question. " - But when I faced that dragon in the first task I think everyone saw just how dangerous it was and accepted that I would've been mad to want to compete and that I was telling the truth. Only the Slytherin's are still antagonistic towards me now."_

_"Yes, yes," agreed Flitwick shortly, his sense of guilt obviously shortening his usually vast paitence. "But as we don't have any dragons which Miss Lovegood could face I am not sure I see your point. Besides," he continued after a beat, "bravery and daring are Gryffindor traits, I doubt they would do much to sway the opinion of her house mates."_

_"Precisely, professor," chimed in Hermione stepping forward so that she was now shoulder to shoulder with Harry. "Ravenclaws seek out and value knowledge above all else do they not?" The tiny professor accepted her sentiment with a solitary nod of his head. "Well...Luna discovered something a few weeks ago that proves she is a true Ravenclaw."_

_By way of explanation, Hermione unfurled her palm to reveal a tiny object which glittered like a jewel in the light of the lanterns which lit McGonagall's office. Wordlessly corriographing the moment, Harry touched his wand to the item, which ballooned in size the moment he cast the counter spell to the Shrinking Charm._

_There was a sharp intake of breath as Professor Flitwick set eyes on the now full sized golden tiara. "It - it can't be!" he exclaimed as he scrambled down from the too high chair to take a closer look._

_"I assure you, Fillius, it is," added McGonagall, a thin smile threatening to form on her usually impassive features. "Luna discovered Rowena Ravenclaw's lost Diadem last month," she explained, knowing full well that, as the professor had yet to be inducted into the new Order, he was unaware of many of the events of the past few months. "It was...infested," she continued, stumbling slightly over her choice of words, "with a dark curse - one which has now been removed," she added quickly in response to Flitwick's momentary expression of concern. "As such the Diadem can be returned to it's rightful home."_

_As if on cue, Hermione extended her hand to pass the repaired diadem to Flitwick who accepted the gift with slightly trembling fingers. _

_"Yes," he announced, after silently studying the long lost artefact reverently with his eyes, his finger tips tracing the jagged crack in the stone which, Hermione knew, had once housed the piece of Voldemort's soul. "Yes, this will do very nicely. I shall have Miss Lovegood present the diadem to the house this evening...with your approval of course, Minerva," the charms master added almost as an after thought._

_Accepting the diminutive professors proposal with a single inclination of her chin, McGonagall quickly added; "However, I must stress I still expect punishments to be handed out to anyone who played an active part in Miss Lovegoods bullying."_

_"You have my word," confirmed Flitwick before taking his leave, hurrying away as fast as his legs would carry him_, _the Diadem clasped securely in both hands._

oOo

Spirits suitably bouyed by the memory that had kick started Luna transformation from socially awkward wall flower into the 'Queen of the Claws', one of the most popular students in the entire house, Hermione and Harry set a brisk pace and soon arrived at the top of the final flight of stairs which led to the great hall. At the bottom of which stood the new display cabinet which housed Rowena Ravenclaw's recovered Diadem.

"Jus' another ... bloody thing for me to ... polish." The wheezing voice of Argus Filch, the school caretaker, floated up the stone staircase towards them, his disjointed sentence punctuated by several pauses to draw breath.

Following the sound of his irritated voice, Hermione noted that the display case which resided to one side of the double doors to the great hall stood empty this morning, only the purple cushion on which the diadem usually sat still in place.

"Not like I ... don't have enough ... to do!"

Her line of sight improving as they descended the stairs, Hermione could now see that Filch had set up a small, rickety looking table on the other side of the hallway where he was in the process of cleaning several pieces, presumably in preparation for the feast in honour of the final task of the Triwazard Tournamnet that very evening.

To her right, Harry failed to fully supress a snort of amusement as he noted that Filch was now buffing the large silver shield Luna had been awarded in honour of her special services to the school, the squib caretakers gaze snapping up in response as the sound carried easily to his ears in the echoing confines of the stone corridor.

"No loitering in the corridors," he snapped, his face purple from the physical exertion of cleaning by hand. "Or I'll have you two cleaning these yourself!" he raged as Harry and Hermione quickened their pace and made directly for the open doors of the great hall, meaning the caretaker was out of sight as his last threat reached their ears; "No magic allowed!"

Ignoring the often irritable man, Harry and Hermione paused just inside the threshold, both of their eyes instinctively scanning the crowed of bowed heads for the familiar crown of flaming red hair of their best friend.

"It's not like Ron to be late for a meal," Hermione commented as they made their way to an empty spot half way along the Gryffindor table once it became clear that Ron was not at breakfast.

"Not much comes between Ron and his stomach," Harry agreed as he slid onto the bench. "Do you think we should save him some food?"

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but it was immediately rendered redundant as another bout of incoherent rage from the caretaker outside drew the students attention to the doorway where Ron skidded into sight a momemt later. His cheeks were flushed and his hair windswept suggesting he had sprinted all the way from Gryffindor tower.

"Over...slept," he panted in response to his best friends inquisitive looks as he flopped down into the empty space next to Hermione a few seconds later, wasting no time in filling his plate with a selection of the many breakfast fares on offer.

Hermione's nose wrinled involenterily as her stomach churned at the very thought of food - her pre-examination nerves making themselves felt in full force once more.

"What?" asked Ron incredulously as he lent forward and helped himself to a third helping of scrambled eggs. "It's brain food."

"Actually, Ron's right," added Harry, although Hermione was fairly certain he was siding with the red head on principle rather than on the proven benefits of the choline contained within egg yolks on the brains memory centers. "You've got to eat _something_," he concluded confirming her theory, and he placed two pieces of toast on her empty plate as he handed her a loaded butter knife.

Grudgingly accepting the utensil, Hermione began to scrape butter over one of her pieces of toast as Ron inquired as to how Harry's own nerves were holding up.

"I never thought I'd ever hear myself saying this," replied Harry, a wry smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "But thank God for the Triwizard championship."

Looking up from her half buttered toast, Hermione returned his lopsided grin in full force, recognising both the humour, and the truth that his words carried.

Sure enough, last October, when Harry's name had emerged from the Goblet of Fire as the fourth Triwizard champion, he had confessed to her that he was completely terrified at the prospect of taking part in such a dangerous competition. Especially in light of the fact that he would be pitted against witches and wizards of vastly greater experience. But now, as they sat down to breakfast on the morning of the final task, the Triwizard championship offered something very different; namely a very welcome distraction from the events of the past month.

As her thoughts returned to those harrowing events, Hermione's eyes swung towards the high table of their own accord, where, at first glance at least, all appeared normal. Only the now customary sight of Professor Dumbledore's near omnipresent shadow, Madame Pomfrey, gave any indication that things were anything but.

In a change to her usual routine, the matron had taken to eating all of her meals with the rest of the school rather than just for special occasions. Presumably, Hermione had reasoned, to keep a less than serupticious eye on her newest patient. Coupled with the strict regime of potions, resoratives and daily check ups she had implemented since the Professor had discharged himself from the bed rest she had recommended, it was now quite a rarity to see one without the other somewhere nearby.

Not that the student body as a whole realised the severity of the headmasters condition of course. Whilst the Hogwarts rumour mill had gone into overdrive upon Dumbledore's return to Hogwarts, with several wild (and occasionally worryingly accurate) theories purporting to explain his withered and blackened hand doing the rounds, in the four weeks since his return to daily school life, the initial furore surrounding his injury had subsided considerably, the headmasters condition now largely forgotten, usurped by the impending third task and school examinations as the hot topics of conversation in the corridors of the ancient castle.

Shifting her focus several places to the headmasters left, Hermione's gaze settled on the aforementioned mediwitch who was disinterestedly pushing her food around her plate with her fork, the evidence of the strain she was under indelibly etched on her weary features. The worry lines above the bridge of her nose had deepened in the last month, and, even in the bright morning sunlight recreated by the enchanted ceiling high overhead, her complextion appeared ashen.

"She looks tired, doesn't she?" said Harry, correctly interpreting the concern on his girlfriends face without needing to indulge in a spot of mental eavesdropping to discern her line of thought, his own gaze now also directed towards the high table.

_Tired_. Hermione's mind latched onto the adjective Harry had chosen to describe Madame Pomfrey's physical appearance and found it to be wholy inadequate to describe her evident exhaustion.

Having taken her initial failure to find a cure as something of a personal insult, Hermione knew that Poppy had been working tirelessly ever since, investigating several possible avenues of treatment in the hopes of finding a cure - albeit thus far with little or no success.

Her most promising theory to date; the complete amputation of the necrotised limb, had, unfortunately, fallen by the wayside early on. Further tests had shown that although the _effects_ of the curse had been contained within Dumbledore's right hand, the curse itself was present in every cell of his body, its progress merely halted by Professor Snape's expertly administered counter curses.

How long those magical bindings would continue to restrain the curse's progression was anyone's guess, although one thing was indisputable; the clock was ticking, and with Professor Snape's assertion that this was a curse which strengthened over time, a cure would need to be found sooner rather than later.

Realising her inner musings had probably rendered her silent for too long, Hermione nodded her head in agreement of Harry's earlier sentiment having been unable to think of a term which could more accurately convey Pomfrey's enervation.

At the high table, perhaps sensing that she was being observed, Madame Pomfrey lifted her brown eyes to meet both Hermione's and Harry's concerned gaze. Offering her erstwhile patients a subtle nod and a flicker of a smile she quickly dropped her eyes and returned her attention to her largely untouched food.

"I just wish there was something we could do to help," added Hermione as the matron broke eye contact.

Sensing her despondency, Harry slipped his hand into her own, his thumb tracing comforting circles on the back of her palm, however it was Ron who put words to his sentiment.

"Everyone knows your brilliant H'mione," he said, butchering her name through a mouthful of bacon causing Hermione's nose to wrinkle in disgust at her best friends consistently poor table manners. "But Pomfrey's the best," he added, pausing briefly to swallow, "if anyone can find a cure, it's her."

Realising that Ron had just paid both Madame Pomfrey and herself a complement, Hermione smoothed the revolted expression from her features and offered the red head a warm smile of gratitude instead. "Thank you, Ron."

Spearing a piece of waffle on his fork, Ron gave a laconic, _don't mention it,_ kind of shrug before devouring the remainder of his breakfast.

"Ron's right, Hermione," Harry chimed in a moment later giving Hermione a welcome excuse to direct her gaze elsewhere. "Madame Pomfrey isn't beaten yet," her assured her, punctuating his point by pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

Ron nodded emphatically in agreement, but, perhaps motivated by his best friends evident disgust with regards to his dining etiquette, he did at least take a moment to swallow this time before he spoke aloud. "Besides," he said, gesticulating with his now empty fork. "As brilliant as you are, Hermione, assuming you didn't hold onto that time turner McGonagall gave you last year, there's no way you've got enough time to assist Pomfrey with her research on top of everything else on your plate.

"Unless of course you've got a sexy twin sister roaming the corridors I don't know about," he added, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively, receiving a playful swat to his shoulder for his trouble whilst Harry looked on, failing miserably to hide the amusement from his face.

"I agree with Ronald..."

Three pairs of eyes swung over their shoulders to face the unmistakable voice of Luna Lovegood who had approached unnoticed.

"About the sister?" Ron's teasing tone earnt him a second swat to his upper arm.

Shaking his head ruefully at his best friend who was now massaging his bruised shoulder whilst raising his other hand in mock surrender, Harry scooted to the side to offer Luna a seat; an offer she silently accepted.

"Which just goes to show that even the best of us can be wrong," said Luna, picking up her opening statement as if no one had spoken in the intervening time.

Pulled up short by Luna's apparent non-sequitur, Hermione ceased her attempts to land another blow on Ron's upper arm and turned to face her friend, her eye brows knit together as she attempted to replay Luna's statements in her mind, but it was Harry who was first to speak;

"Who was wrong?" he asked, having evidently been quicker at following the occasionally illogical path of Luna's though processes.

"We were Harry," Luna replied happily, showing none of the frustration Hermione knew she would've felt if she had been incorrect about something as she reached for one of the still warm bread rolls from the centre of the table. "We were both convinced that there was nothing left to learn from our...project - "

"But you were wrong about that?" cut in Hermione, matching the whisper which Luna had dropped her voice to as she mentioned their sensitive order work.

"Very much so," agreed Luna.

After a moment, when it became obvious that Luna did not intend to expand on her statement, Hermione spread her palms apart and raised her eyebrows towards her hairline in an obvious invitation to continue, one that if spoken aloud would have taken the form of a very elongated _and_?

"Oh," said Luna, picking up on her friends gesture. "I noticed the wand you-know-who was holding looked very famliar," she explained. Neither of the trio correcting her failure to mention Voldemort's name aloud, knowing that, whilst Luna was not affriad to speak his name, referring to him as 'you-know-who' in public did serve to keep their Order activities as clandestine as possible. "It was quite distinctive," she continued. "Long, ornately carved, with three spherically shap - "

The rest of Luna's explanation went unspoken as Hermione's eyes widened. "Dumbledore's wand," she said in surprise, shooting a look straight past Luna, who was nodding her agreement, towards Harry who's brow had furrowed in concern at the troubling revelation. After all, motivated by a desire to protect the world from the power of the combined hallows, only she, Harry and Dumbledore knew their existence was anything more than legend and myth, and now it appeared that at least the wand of power had at one point in the future fallen into the hands of Lord Voldemort himself.

Instinctively, Hermione's dropped her right hand to cup the pocket of her robe where she could feel the comforting lump of the ressurection stone, simultaneously noting Harry's gaze drop serupticiously to his school bag as he too checked on the safety of the hallow they each possessed and had taken to carrying everywhere with them.

Wanting nothing more than to make their apologies and to go and find Dumbledore, Harry and Hermione's plan was derailed by the arrival of a fifth voice.

"Miss Lovegood?" came the distinctive voice of the Deputy Headmistress from behind them. "I trust I do not need to draw you a map to your own house table?"

Luna turned her wide eyes towards the deputy headmistress. "No, Professor McGonagall."

"Well then I suggest you rejoin your friends before classes," concluded the Gryffindor head of house, although there was no mistaking the hint of pride her voice projected as she spoke of Luna's new found friendships with her peers.

Hermione offered Luna a wan smile as she scurried away, before returning her attention to McGonagall's stern gaze trusting she had something more to say.

"Now, Potter," she began, confirming Hermione's hunch. "The champions' families are invited to watch the final task. You may excuse yourself from your final examination if you wish to join them in the chamber off the main hall after breakfast."

For a moment Harry said nothing, instead he simply gaped at her as if she had grown horns.

"Harry's family are all muggles, Professor," put in Hermione, correctly interpreting his stunned silence without needing to reach into his thoughts.

Confusion momenteraliy creased the elder witches features, before being replaced as understanding bloomed. "Those..._muggles_?" she replied, stumbling over the description she had chosen for Harry family (Hermione was certain McGonagall had prevented herself from calling them something far worse). "No Potter, your family. Your real family. Remus is here...and I believe he had brought his pet dog with him," she added after a heartbeat as Harry's beaming grin went into overdrive at the mention of his godfather.

"Shall I tell Professor Binns not to expect you then?"

"Actually, professor," said Harry, his smile faltering slightly as Hermione sensed the feeling of guilt return that he had been wrestling with continuously for the past month; a feeling motivated by their decsision not to divulge the existence of the hallows to anyone. "If you can tell them I'll see them both after my exam."

Knowing he would consider it lying if he spent the whole day with his parents closest friends without revealing the troubling revelation Luna had just alerted them to, Hermione reached out with the tendrils of her mind, and offered him her reassurances. _I know you feel like you are lying to them, Harry, but we agreed, no one can know that the hallows actually exsist. They are too dangerous. I know it's hard but it's for..._

_...the greater good?_ Harry mentally interrupted her and she knew immediately she had said the wrong thing. _We said no more secrets, Hermione. _She knew if they had been speaking aloud he would have punctuated his point by pounding his fist against something._ Dumbledore kept secrets from me for thirteen years, how am I any better if I do the same? If people are going to keep risking their necks for us...for _me_...I've got to tell them... _

Hermione did not respond with words, instead, sensing his mind was made up, she offered him the mental equivalent of a nod of agreement which she backed up with a wave of love and support that she projected across their bond, which said, louder than if spoken aloud, that she would always stand in his corner.

Unaware of the couples silent conversation, McGonagall agreed to pass on Harry's message and moved away without another word.

oOo

The rest of the day passed in a haze of exams and feasts, and, before Hermione knew it, she was sitting high in the quidditch stands looking out over the totally unrecognisable field of play, it's usually neatly trimmed turf replaced with towering twenty foot high hedges.

What little of the maze Hermione could make out beyond the entrance to the vast course before her looked dark and foreboding, the sheer height of the massive hedges cutting out almost all of what little natural light remained as the flaming disk of the sun sank bellow the horizon, now hidden from sight behind the western edge of the Quidditch stadium.

Far bellow, Hermione could see Harry nervously shifting his weight from foot to foot as he spoke with Ludo Bagman, the latter presumably offering some last minute words of encouragement or advice to her boyfriend, but the sight did little to quell the knot of anxiety that had formed in her stomach as she watched the former Wimbourne Wasp player send the six perimeter patrollers on their way.

She could at least take some solace from the fact that, having been brought up to speed that afternoon regarding the hallows, Sirius (now once again disguised in his animagus form) had insisted that both he and Remus be allowed to join the group of teachers who were patrolling the outer edge of the maze. Both to ensure Harry's and the other competitors safety, but also to permit Sirius to keep a close eye on Mad Eye Moody, whom he still did not trust 'as far as he could throw his wooden leg' to paraphrase the former marauder.

"Ladies and Gentlemen," boomed Bagman's magically enhanced voice as he turned away from Harry to address the crowd. "The third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points stand..."

Hermione cheered and whooped with Ron and the other Gryffindors as Harry's name was announced, noting, with no small amount of satisfaction, that whilst the Slytherin's had predictably sided with the Hufflepuff champion, Cedric Diggory, many of the Ravenclaws had chosen to support Harry - no doubt motivated by 'The Queen of the Claw's' obvious allegiance to her friend which she advertised by virtue of wearing a large hat in the shape of a lion which let out a deafening, yet very realistic roar whenever Luna tapped it with her wand.

The applause for Viktor Krum and Fleur Delacour, whilst noticeably less raucous, was polite and well recieved by the foreign champions, with Harry taking the opportunity to locate Hermione and Ron in the stands offering them a cheerful wave which they returned vigourously.

"So...on my whistle, Harry and Cedric!" said Bagman, having paused briefly to ensure he had their full attention. "Three - two - one - "

With a short blast on his whistle, Harry and Cedric hurried forward into the maze and were almost immediately lost to sight.

Switching her attention to a point high above even the tops of the hedges, Hermione located the the four giant, inverted periscope-like devices hovering above the field of play. Two of them now showing an image of Cedric and Harry respectively on their circular screens as they both cast the _Lumos Charm_ and headed off in different directions at the first fork.

"You're brothers are brilliant," whispered Hermione to Ron feeling a huge surge of gratitude towards the twins that she would now be able to follow Harry's progress through the maze, a situation in stark contrast to the experience of those watching the second task. According to Ginny (and every other member of Gryffindor she had spoken to for that matter), that event had been something something of a damp squib in terms of a spectator sport with nothing but an empty expanse of water to look at for over an hour.

As soon as Fred and George had learnt that the final task would once again take place behind closed doors, as it were, the twins, motivated no doubt by a desire to take bets on the outcomes on the various challenges within the maze whilst the action was unfolding, had taken in upon themselves to dismantle and study the inner workings of Ron's pair of omnioculars.

Utilizing that knowledge, the twins had pieced together a working prototype of the behemoths now tracing the contesents movements far bellow; a prototype they had been 'testing' in the Gryffindor common room to spy on other students homework (amongst other things).

Needless to say, Professor McGonagall had been none-to-pleased to learn of the twins latest scheme and had confiscated the gadget before placing them both in a fortnights worth of detentions.

However, she had been suitably impressed with the advanced magic on show in the device to authorize Fred and George to construct the four full sized machines in use tonight as a project to occupy their time whilst they served out their detentions.

Far bellow, Hermione heard a second whistle sound, and caught sight of a third hovering 'Weasley Vision' (as she had inwardly termed the devices) moving to follow the movements of the Durmstrung champion as he joined the fray.

To her right, Hermione heard a collective gasp issue from the Hufflepuff students no doubt indicating that Cedric had just encountered his first challenge, but, just like the Dragon challenge, Hermione had eyes only for Harry, and she kept her focus riveted to his screen as she watched him turn first left and then right, his wand held high overhead lighting the mercifully deserted pathways.

As Bagman's whistle sounded for the third and final time, Hermione watched as Harry paused. He placed his wand on his open palm and spoke an incantation. Although there was no audio on the twins contraptions, a modification of the omnioculars play-by-play replay function displayed the words '_Four-Point Spell_' at the bottom of the screen.

Obviously satisfied with what he had learnt, Harry immediately turned to his left following, Hermione knew, the most direct path to the centre of the maze. However, he had only managed a couple of purposeful strides in his new direction when he came to an abrupt halt, his arm raised to his face to shield his eyes from the blinding light that had suddenly permeated this part of the maze.

Hermione saw Harry's lips mouth the word Nox, his wand tip extinguishing as the caption at the bottom of the screen confirmed he had spoken the counter charm to the wand lighting charm.

In the stands bellow there were several screams as the path on which Harry stood was plunged into complete darkness, the detached part of Hermione's mind realising that Harry's logical use of the counter spell to his Lumos Charm must have been some sort of trigger to shroud his way in darkness.

The words 'Lumos Charm' appeared and reappeared at the bottom of the screen suggesting that Harry was attempting to re-light his wand tip, thus far without success.

"There must be some sort of block on the Lumos Charm," whispered Hermione in response to the unspoken question she could sense on Ron's lips.

As the Weasley Vision viewer automatically adjusted the contrast, a grainy image of Harry standing stock still in a defensive stance she recognised from their training sessions came into focus.

Obviously still blinded by the abrupt change in lighting levels and not aided by the optical sensory charms of the twins creation, Hermione could almost feel him straining his eyes into the inky blackness in an effort to discern his path forwards.

"What's that?"

The disembodied voice called out from somewhere in the Ravenclaw section of the stands, and Hermione, still completely focused on Harry was set to ignore it, as she had done with the numerous other exclamations pertaining to the other champions, when she sensed more and more pairs of eyes fixing on Harry's screen.

"Hermione?" prompted Ron, his outstretched finger pointed toward a faint perlesent glow at the end of the path, blocking Harry's way. "What the bloody hell is that?"

"A ghost?" proposed Neville Longbottom seated a couple of rows behind them.

"Nah," came Seamus's reply. "Unless it's the ghost of a - "

But whatever her fellow Gryffindor had been about to say was drowned out, first by a thunderous roar from the Durmstrung students in obvious approval of a challenge Viktor Krum had evidently overcome, followed by an even more tumultuous wall of sound as the the thing facing Harry, whatever it was, rushed toward him at a speed almost beyond that which Hermione's eyes could follow.

"Harry look out!" Hermione was on her feet yelling with the rest of the schoolbut still Harry did not move, either unable or unwilling to jump aside.

_A Gytrash_, she projected involenteraly, her instinct to protect Harry overwhelming their unspoken agreement that they should not use their connection to aid his progress in the tournament as a detatched part of her consciousness recognised the danger posed by the spectral beast eating up the distance between itself and Harry.

To her surprise however, Hermione found her mental warning rebound back to her, Harry's mental protections very firmly in place.

_He doesn't want to cheat_, she realised with a mixture of pride and annoyance that he hadn't forewarned her of his intention to shield his mind, as she watched his silhouette roll to this left as the spectral dog lunged forwards to strike, it's open jaws passing harmlessly.

Coming out of his shoulder roll with his wand pointed toward his attacker, Harry fired a bolt of brilliant white energy towards it's retreating back which engulfed the shadow dwelling creature, prompting a huge cheer to erupt from the stands as the spectre was banished back to whence it had come, the light levels in Harry's section to the maze immediately returning to normal.

For close to an hour, Hermione watched as Harry confronted and defeated challenge after challenge in the maze, including, a boggart disguised as a Dementor, a sparkling mist that, according the the Weasley Vision caption, inverted the contestants perception of up and down and thus explaining why Harry had gratefully dropped to his knees after passing through the mist.

Judging by the frequent startled yelps, gasps and cheers from the grandstands all around her, the other contestants were making their way past their respective challenges too, but Hermione had eyes only for Harry.

Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewt had proven no match for him, and, following his triumph over one of the giant Acromantulas that dwelled in the dark forest, Hermione found herself starting to believe that he was actually going to win.

By now, everyone in the grandstands had realised the competition was close to an end, and had all turned their attention towards the champion elect, who was sprinting towards victory and the Triwizard cup which stood on a plinth at the end of the path his feet now thundered along.

The sheer number of people now focused on the Gryffindor champion ensured that the collective gasp which rose up as a curtain of fire blossomed into existence encircling the cup directly in his path was the loudest yet.

Harry however, did not break stride, and Hermione knew, even before the caption appeared on the screen, exactly what he intended to do.

_"Pallium Aqua!"_ She couldn't hear the spell, but there was no mistaking the words which his lips had formed, the caption confirming her hunch a moment later as Harry touched his wand to the top of his head - '_Water Veil'._

Just in time, Harry was shrouded in a fine mist of water, and he ploughed though the magical barrier without pause, his protective veil giving off a great plume of steam as he did so. Bounding up the three stone steps of the plinth, his wand hand aloft in triumph, Harry grasped the handle of the cup in his other hand and disappeared.

Even before Hermione's eye could register what happened next she knew that something had gone very, very wrong. For the second time in her life she felt the connection they shared pull taught as the distance between them grew massivley in the space of a single moment. Her vision immediately greyed and she felt strong hands reach out to her on all sides as she slipped of the bench, her consciousness was pulled asunder allowing the darkness to claim her.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AM **__- Hello dear readers, I'm back! Many apologies for the cliffy, but as we all know where he's gone I don't feel too mean about the point at which I chose to halt the story, especially in light of just how long this chapter has already become._

_I'm fairly satisfied with each element that went to make up this chapter, but as I'm very limited on time at the moment and can only put a few hundred words down a day my concern with the end result is that you will be able to 'see the joins' if you catch my drift. _

_As the chapter title suggest, there are plenty of changes from canon (and not just the obvious), so I want to pick up on a couple of those now:_

_Whilst Barty Sr did still die at the hands of his son, as Viktor never confronted Harry in the forest about his romantic intentions towards Hermione (because those are pretty obvious, right?) no one was around to see it._

_Secondly, as Harry is being that much more diligent in my story he did not fall asleep in Trelawney's class and therefore did not have a second vision (mainly because I didn't need him to. All of the revelations he discovered in the pensieve after his vision have already been revealed in my story)._

_Why did Harry face additional challenges in the maze this time? Simple, with Sirius and Remus tailing Moody, he was prevented from assisting him. Not that Harry needed it this time; it gave me a nice opportunity to show that Harry's skills have developed in comparison to year four canon Harry._

_Obviously, as this story is all Hermione's POV, I needed a plot device to allow Harry's challenges in the maze to be told through her eyes, so the WV (or Weasley Vision if you will), was born. _

_Well that's enough of my pointless prattle. Hope you liked it. Till next time._


	20. Chapter 20 Ultimatum

_A/N - For those of you reading multiple fics, there is a recap of the story so far bellow my author musings (sounds much better than author notes, right?) at the bottom of this chapter to help you remember exactly what has occurred so far._

_Disclaimer: Whilst I do hold the rights for The Chronicles of Narnia, Star Wars and the entire Beatles back catalogue, Potter is not mine. (My lawyer wishes to add that I do not hold the rights to any of the above)._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty - Ultimatum<strong>

An indeterminate period of time later, Hermione regained some semblance of consciousness.

However, even as she became cognisant of the sensations being transmitted to her sluggish mind from her senses, full awareness remained frustratingly out of reach.

Distantly, as if felt through another's body, she perceived the moisture leaching through the material of the front of her robes from the slightly damp grass on which she lay; an esthesis her subconscious mind immediately alerted her was out of place. Hogwarts, after all, had been warm and dry for many weeks, the lawns of the grounds dry and brittle as a result.

A surge of panic ran through her mind; _Where am I? How did I get here?_ she wondered, the thought barely given time to coalesce in her mind before her subconscious pointed out that she did not even know where _here_ was.

Her eyelids felt heavier than lead and refused her commands to open, so instead, Hermione focused on her other senses for some clue to her whereabouts.

The air was redolent with an acrid stench that burnt the back of her throat every time she drew breath, and, as if heard from another room, two distant, yet distinct noises filtered through to her brain. One was unmistakable; that of a liquid boiling vigorously, whilst the other, some sort of muffled cry, she could place less readily - perhaps a small infant fussing somewhere nearby?

_Voices_.

Had she not already been effectively paralysed, Hermione knew she would have frozen in fright - much as her heart had just done. As it was, unable to move or open her eyes, she strained her addled hearing in an attempt to discern if the speakers were friend or foe.

"Hurry!"

"It is almost ready, master."

In her bewildered state, and despite her certainty that she should recognise both, Hermione found she could not identify either voice. However, the chill of dread which swept up her spine as she heard the high, cold tones of the first speaker left Hermione wondering if she truly wanted to discover their identity at all.

"Bring the boy."

Immediately, and giving her no time to wonder how she could be mistaken for anything other than a girl, two rough and calloused hands - one of which, her subconscious noted, had only four digits - grasped her painfully by the wrists and hefted her torso off the ground, her head lolling forwards and her feet literally dragging across the soft earth as she was manhandled forward.

"Are you a wizard or not, Wormtail?" The cruel voice now dripped with disdain, sounding even more dangerous for it.

For an instant, Hermione felt certain her assailant - _Wormtail_; a name she _knew_ held importance, but could not place - would simply release his grip on her and allow her limp frame fall back to the ground as he came to a halt, wheezing slightly from the effort of manoeuvring her dead weight. But instead, and with a strength no human could possibly possess naturally, she was hoisted off her feet and slammed against something as solid as stone.

Jolted awake by the pain of her shoulder blades making contact with the unyielding material at her back, Hermione's eyes snapped open, a scream of terror tearing past her lips as her mind assimilated the scene before her; a scene which made her immediately wish for a return to the blissful ignorance of unconsciousness.

_Not my lips_, a detached part of her mind registered as the distinctly male yell of terror was silenced, first by a painful fist to the jaw, and then by a wad of black material inserted roughly into her mouth as her captor, whom she now recognised as Petter Pettigrew, bound her tightly to a marble tombstone from neck to ankle with thick chords.

Unable to move bellow the neck, Hermione turned her gaze down, catching a glimpse of a torn and frayed robe of scarlet and gold. _I'm in Harry's body_, she realised in disbelief.

_But that's impossible_, the rational part of her protested, _I must be dreaming!_ But, even as the thought formed in her mind, she new it to be false.

She recalled loosing consciousness as Harry had been transported away the instant he had grasped the handle of the Triwizard Cup - an item, she now reasoned, must have been a Portkey - but knew, having grown proficient in recognising the signs in recent months, that she was not dreaming. In addition, given the fact she had subconscioulsy exerted control over Harry's body, nor was this the role of the passive observer in which she had been cast during her earliest experiences of the other Hermione's memories.

Despite the improbability of such an event, there really was no other logical explanation.

_But if my mind is here...where's Harry's? _she wondered as she strained in vain against her bindings - her rhetorical question answered only by the tightening of the chords which bound her; every effort she made to free herself resulting in the magical bindings cutting into her flesh a little deeper.

Before her, Wormtail had retreated into the haze given off by the giant cauldron bubbling a few paces from the tombstone where she - or more accurately, Harry - was bound, and was now crouched before it, tending to the fire beneath which illuminated her surroundings in a flickering orange glow. To her left, stood a dilapidated old church and a grand manor house, just visible on the hillside as dark outlines against the encroaching night. Neither, however, provided any hope of rescue, both appeared long abandoned; probably for at least as long as the overgrown cemetery in which she was held hostage - the latest dates adorning any of the tombstone in her line of sight, at least fifty years prior, around the time of the last Muggle World War.

At her feet, something Hermione had earlier mistaken as a fretful child stirred within a bundle of robes, derailing her line of thought - something told her she did not want that bundle opened...

"Now..." ordered the same voice which plagued her nightmares from within the robes.

Hurrying to the bundle, Wormtail crouched and pulled open the robes to reveal the terrible secret they hid, and, for a second that contained an eternity, Hermione knew true terror.

Fear - this kind of cold, rigid fear - was new to her, and she found herself unable to move or cry out, too frightened even to whimper, and she watched in mute horror as the roughly humanoid creature, no bigger than a small toddler, turned it's serpent-like face toward her, its malicious scarlet eyes horrifyingly familiar to her: _Voldemort_.

_'I am in no doubt - '_ the words spoken by Albus Dumbledore several months earlier appeared in her mind unbidden as Wormtail lifted the feeble form Voldemort had created for himself into his arms,_ ' - that Lord Voldemort will soon succeed in his plans to return himself to corporeal form.'_

Suddenly understanding what was happening, Hermione's eye widened in horror and she renewed her efforts to free herself, simultaneously shaking her head from side to side vigorously in vain attempt to deny what her eyes were seeing. But, with every frantic movement, the magical bindings constricted yet further, leaving her fighting to even draw breath as Pettigrew lowered the gruesome creature into the cauldron.

The dull ache in her temple, which, until now, she had assumed was a remnant from her loss of consciousness, suddenly flared with a searing hot pain far beyond her ability to tolerate - only the wad of material in her mouth preventing her from renting the air with a scream of agony.

_Harry's scar_, a detached part of her deduced. _How does he cope with this?_ she wondered in awe, as she fought to remain conscious against the onslaught of fiery agony.

Attempting to master the pain which lanced through her skull, Hermione attempted to focus on the words issuing forth from Pettigrew as he enacted the vows of some sort of ancient ritual.

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given. You will renew your son!" The traitors voice shook as he closed his eyes and pointed his wand at the ground under Hermione's feet, the surface cracking beneath her as if torn apart by a miniature earthquake.

As if magnetically attracted to Pettigrew's wand, a fine trickle of dust rose out of the earth before falling softy into the cauldron, the surface of the potion hissing and fizzing as it turned a vivid, poisonous-looking blue.

_Little Hangleton! _Hermione's eyes widened as she realised she now had the clue she needed to provide her location - Dumbledore had mentioned that Tom Riddles muggle father was buried in Little Hangleton's cemetery._ If only there was a way I could get word to the order_, she thought helplessly as her gaze fell on Harry's wand which lay unreachable on the ground to her right.

"Flesh - of the servant - w-willingly given - you will - revive - your master."

Her attention directed once more towards the sobbing form of Peter Pettigrew, Hermione watched as he pulled a silver dagger from within his robes, the pristine blade offering a brief glimpse of Harry's terrified reflection staring back at her.

Raising the trembling hand which clasped the dagger high overhead, Hermione averted her gaze, knowing exactly what would happen next, as Wormtail held out his other arm in front of him. Unable to block out the scream which pierced the night air which immediately followed the swoosh of the blade, Hermione screwed her eyes tightly shut in a futile attempt to block out the disturbing mental images her imagination conjured in her mind as she heard a soft thud of something falling to the ground, followed, first by Pettigrew's anguished panting, before finally a sickening splash.

When Hermione finally risked re-opening her eyes, she saw that the potion had turned blood red, but only realised, as her eyelids fluttered open, that the pale, trembling form of Pettigrew now stood mere inches from her, the foul odour of his stale sweat commingled with the smell of fresh blood assaulting her nose.

"B-blood of the enemy...forcibly taken..." he wheezed, his massive blood loss leaving him close to passing out . "You will...resurrect your foe."

Right up until the moment she felt the point of the dagger penetrate her skin, Hermione held out a slim hope that Pettigrew would indeed succumb to his self inflicted injuries before he could complete his task. However, either through a reserve of strength Hermione had not credited him with, or, as seemed more likely, his fear of a punishment worse than death at the hands of his master should he fail, Wormtail retrieved a vial from the inside of his robes and collected a small sample of her blood - Harry's blood - which was seeping from the wound.

Staggering back to the cauldron with the bloodied blade and glass vial, Wormtail tipped a few drops into the potion before collapsing to the floor as the contents of the cauldron turned a blinding white, too painful to observe directly.

The pain in Harry's scar flared once more, leaving Hermione gasping for breath, and she screwed her eyes shut against the almost unbearable torture.

Even through her closed eyelids Hermione was aware that, just like the pounding of her heart - Harry's heart she mentally corrected herself - the blinding light of the potion was pulsating at an ever increasing rate, it's surface hissing and spitting out diamond-like sparks, like some sick approximation of a muggle firework.

Then, as Hermione felt certain that she would pass out from the pain in her skull, as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped, the graveyard falling into a deathly silence.

Before her stood the cauldron, its fire extinguished, the surface of the potion within now as still as a millpond.

_Please let it have gone wrong._

_Please let it have gone wrong._

_It __**must**__ have gone wrong._

Noting dimly that she was whispering the words aloud, Hermione squinted into the white haze which still hung over over her surroundings, repeating her last five words over and over again as something of a mantra, as if she could somehow force the universe to accept the validity of her prayers by the very act of giving form to those hopes.

But then, just as she started to believe those prayers were to be answered, through the thick mist created by the steaming potion before her, the dark outline of a man, tall and skeletally thin, rose slowly from within the cauldron, a swirl of black clouds surrounding him, coalescing into a simple black robe.

"My wand, Wormtail."

Sobbing and moaning in pain, Wormtail, still cradling the stump of his arm, forced himself to his feet and retrieved the Dark Lords wand from the bundle of robes which still lay at Hermione/Harry's feet.

"My Lord..." he chocked, falling to his knees in a gesture of submission as he passed the wand Hermione knew had been responsible for the deaths of Harry's parents and countless others. "My Lord..." repeated Pettigrew. "You promised...you did promise..."

Hermione watched in rapt horror, unable to look away, as she saw Wormtail extend his bleeding stump towards his master only to be rebuffed.

"The other arm, Wormtail," demanded Voldemort appearing to take great satisfaction from the suffering of his servant, and he bent down and tore the robe which covered Wormtail's left arm revealing the familiar skull tattoo that was the dark mark.

Pressing a long, spider like finger to the branding on Pettigrew's arm, the tattoo immediately turned jet black, as, simultaneously, a fresh wave of pain, ten times worse than before, seared through Harry's scar causing her vision to grey and blur, and she surrendered to the blessed relief of unconsciousness.

oOo

When, eventually, her senses returned, her first thought was that her instincts had been correct all along, the disturbing images swirling around her mind nothing more than a nightmarish concoction of her subconscious.

She awoke, not tied to a cold, hard tombstone, but instead on a soft, cosseting mattress, her upper torso slightly inclined, the soft glow of artificial lighting detectable even through her closed eyelids.

Her right hand lay across her chest, but her left rested atop the bedding, two warm hands clasped protectively around it.

"Harry?" she mumbled, forcing her eyes open, her gaze coming rest, not as she had expect on her bond mates emerald eyes, but instead, the concerned filled piercing blue ones of her best friend.

"Hermione!" said Ron. "We've been so worried about you. You passed out as soon as Harry disappeared..."

_Harry!_ Hermione was immediately fully awake, her eyes flying open as she pushed herself up from her prone position as if someone had set her bedding alight. _The graveyard! The ritual! Voldemort... _Her incoherent thoughts trailed away as her hand flew to her temple in an attempt to lessen the pressure that had built there, the world spinning dizzily around her.

"Whoa!" Ron was at her side instantly, one strong arm snaking around her waist to support her unsteady frame. "I'll go get Pomfrey," he said, and made to lower her gently back to the bed.

"No!"

The vehemence of her replied pulled Ron up short, and he ceased his efforts.

"Listen to me, Ron. The cup - the cup was a Portkey. It transported Harry to the cemetery in Little Hangleton. Pettigrew was there," she added, noting Ron's gaze harden as she mentioned the man whom Ron had once believed was nothing more that his pet rat. "He performed a - a ritual...he took some of Harry's blood - " she was crying now, hot salty tears flowing freely down her cheeks. " - He brought...he brought Voldemort back!" she concluded, not caring how far fetched her tale must have sounded from Ron's perspective. "I know," she added sotto voce, "I was there."

Knowing she was rambling, Hermione lifted her brown eyes to regard her best friend and saw, to her eternal gratitude, that Ron, far from questioning her story, had set his jaw, his features exuding an aura of determination. "So what do we do?" he asked.

"We've got to help him," replied Hermione decisively as she dropped to the floor unsteadily, Ron wordlessly moving to act as her crutch. "Where's Dumbledore?" she added, having concluded after a quick scan of the room she now recognised as the infirmary, that the headmaster was absent.

"He's interrogating Moody ... " replied Ron. " ... 'cept he wasn't really Moody!" His tone conveyed just how perplexing he found that notion.

"Then who was he?" Hermione wanted to know as, supported by the redhead, she hobbled towards the infirmary doors, certain the answer had something to do with the missing polyjuice ingredients she herself had been accused of stealing earlier in the school year.

"No idea," shrugged Ron. "Never seen Dumbledore so angry though...it was scary. As soon as Harry disappeared he stormed straight over to Moody and took him into custody. Old Mad Eye - or whoever he is - didn't even put up a fight, he was just laughing his head off. Off his rocker if you ask me."

"And Pomfrey? Snape? The rest of the Order?"

"All with Dumbledore," replied Ron. "I guess he reckons Moody knows where the Cup took Harry. I heard him order Snape to bring veritaserum."

_This is taking to long_, Hermione's inner voice protested, _you already know where he is. _

And it was right.

Across the taught tendrils of their bond, which she had once likened to that of an overstretched rubber band, Hermione could sense Harry fighting to hold onto his own consciousness in the graveyard some three hundred miles or so to the south. Voldemort had largely ignored her - Harry - in the immediate aftermath of his rebirth, but that was not a situation Hermione expected to last for long, and there was no way Harry would be able to do anything to defend himself with their connection stretched so thin.

_I have to go to him...now._

"Dobby!" she called aloud, using the instant it took the diminutive little elf to appear to lock eyes with her best friend to offer him a wordless apology, knowing that, where she planned to go, he could not follow.

_I've got to go to him_, she repeated silently, willing him to understand, and, although she couldn't be certain, the subtle nod that the redhead gave in response seemed to say, _I know_.

"Dobby, I need you to take me to Little Hangleton. It's near Reeth in the Yorkshire Dale National Park," she added, recalling the fact from something Dumbledore had mentioned in passing. "Can you do that?" she asked, trying not to put too much weight on the little elf as she released herself from Ron's supporting grip.

Dobby's blinked his protuberant eyes once -

Twice -

And finally a third time before he shook his head sadly. "Dobby is not knowing this place, mistress Mione."

Hermione felt despair threaten to overwhelm her - she hadn't considered this. If Dobby couldn't take her directly to Harry, then surely there was not enough time to first locate Dumbledore, travel beyond the boundaries of the anti-apparition wards in place at Hogwarts, and disapparate to the village of Voldemort's forefathers in time to rescue Harry. _This isn't supposed to be happening again_, she raged internally as her despair turned to anger.

However, before she could give voice to that rage, Ron snapped his thumb and middle finger together in a gesture of eureka. "Dobby," he said, addressing the elf who appeared close to tears on account of his perceived failure. "Can you take Hermione to the place where Harry is now?"

A brief look of concentration furrowed the House-elf's usually smooth forehead, presumably as he focused on the magic he had used to bind himself to Harry, a beaming smile appearing on his lips an instant later. "Yes Harry Potter's wheezy," he declared triumphantly. "Dobby can."

Ron had just enough time to brace himself against the incoming brown haired missile to prevent both of them from ending up in a heap as Hermione embraced him in a brief, yet bone crushing hug. "Thank you, Ron," she whispered in the ear of the boy who had matured so much in the past six months. "Go to Dumbledore," she said, releasing him from her grateful embrace. "Tell him everything...and make sure he brings the cavalry."

Not waiting for Ron's reply, Hermione turned her gaze on Dobby's murky green eyes and offered a subtle nod. "Not too close to Harry," she ordered. "I don't want to give up the element of surprise."

And with that, the pair disappeared with a loud crack.

oOo

Hermione and Dobby appeared on a hillside in an overgrown garden which looked out over a valley bellow, the speckling of lights visible in the distance presumably those of the nearby town of Great Hangleton. At their backs the dark outline of a once grand manor house rose our of sloping ground towards the sky.

Taking a moment to orientate herself as she felt the elastic of the bond she shared with Harry ping back into place, Hermione recognised the dilapidated and ivy covered structure as the same one she had seen from her vantage point in the graveyard earlier.

Knowing that by now, Harry would have sensed her presence, Hermione turned her eyes in the general direction of the cemetery and strained her eyes into the inky blackness as if by sheer force of will she could make her eyes adapt to the gloom.

_Hermione? _Hermione's heart soared as she _heard_ Harry's voice in her mind once more.

_I'm here, Harry._

_You've got to get out of here! _Even in the confines of her mind, Hermione could hear the urgency of his tone_, _and knew, that if spoken aloud, he would have been shouting_. I don't know how it happened, but I've been captured...Voldemort's ba - _

The remainder of Harry's mental warning was cut off as their connection was abruptly severed by a wave of pain shooting through Hermione's skull. She fell to her knees, eyes rolling in her head, unable to think, unable to drawn breath, unable to do anything except wish for the end, as simultaneously, from the foot of the hill, a single word carried to her ears on a breeze - _Crucio - _and she knew that Harry was being tortured.

"Dobby," she panted as the pain subsided, a wave of mirthless laughter floating up from the valley bellow as Voldemort presumably permitted Harry a momentary rest bite. "Go back to the school. Bring Dumbledore and the others as quickly as you can."

Acknowledging his orders with a curt nod, Dobby vanished into thin air, albeit with a far softer crack of apparation than was his norm.

Offering him her silent thanks for his efforts to maintain her stealth, Hermione stole forwards into the still night air, her wand held ready at her side. She had barely reached the little cottage that stood at the edge of the gardens when she came to realise that covering the distance on foot was simply not an option. Although far from unfit - her weekly work outs with Sirius and Remus had seen to that - nor was she a cross country runner, her breaths already coming hard and fast having set off at an unmaintainable sprint in her haste to reach Harry.

As if in agreement, her subconscious mind chose that moment to push a fragment of memory she knew was not her own to the surface of her thoughts: _Destination; Determination; Deliberation, _a memory of a frail looking wizard even older than Dumbledore entered her minds eye, the great hall filled with countless teenagers all spinning fruitlessly on the spot.

_The Three D's, _her eidetic memory offered a moment later, recalling the Ministry approved method of teaching apparition she had read ahead on.

_But you've never even _attempted_ to apparate before_, pointed out her inner doubts.

_A part of you has_, added a second voice which sounded a lot like Harry's - the one she had long ago termed her inner Gryffindor. _And you hadn't ever cast a bubble head charm, or performed occlumancy either_, it added matter-of-factly.

Decision made, Hermione lowered herself into a defensive crouch, and, knowing she had never been more determined in all her life, focused every ounce of her magical strength on her destination, and, with a deliberately controlled motion, spun herself on the spot.

Had circumstances permitted it, Hermione would have whooped with exhilaration as she appeared almost soundlessly behind a tombstone less than twenty meters from the now empty cauldron - her first attempt at apparation almost flawless in it's execution.

As it was, for a moment she remained stock still as she strained her ears for any sign that her arrival had been detected. When none came, she stole a glance around the headstone to find Harry, wand in hand, unbound and standing at the centre of a rough circle formed by the masked and hooded figures of Voldemort's Death Eaters.

_Voldemort wants to duel Harry_, she realised as her gaze fell upon the almost bone white visage of the man who had once been Tom Riddle at the other side of the circle.

"You have been taught how to duel, Harry Potter?" demanded Voldemort, confirming Hermione's hunch.

Harry, who's eyes had never once left the slit-like scarlet pupils of his nemesis, gave a single jerky nod of his head.

"Excellent! First we bow, Harry," said Voldemort, bending a little but keeping his snake-like face upturned.

Shifting her body to peer around the other side of the headstone, Hermione tried to get a clear line of sight for her wand towards the figures of the assembled Death Eaters, but to no avail. The excellent cover she was afforded by the handful of tombstones between her and her quarry ensured that, whilst relatively well protected herself, she was prevented from getting a direct shot._ I'm going to have to risk moving_.

"Come now, the niceties must be observed. Dumbledore would want you to remember you manners. Bow to death, Harry," Voldemort taunted and was rewarded by a ripple of cruel laughter from his followers.

With the attention of the group riveted on the battle of wills before them, Hermione took the opportunity to move closer. Keeping to the shadows and moving soundlessly, Hermione scrambled forward and was soon pressed against the back of the very tombstone she had awoken to find herself tied to less than half an hour beforehand.

"I said, bow!" demanded Voldemort, raising his wand, and, although Hermione saw his stance wobble as she risked another glance, Harry did not bend.

"Very good," said Voldemort in apparent appreciation of Harry's resistance, his head tipped slightly to one side in a look of commingled curiosity and re-assessment. "Perhaps not such a weak boy after all," he said with a smirk that was as audible as much as it was etched onto his flat serpent-like face. "It will make your death that much more satisfying."

_Harry_, she projected. _Move on my signal_, she added receiving the equivalent of a mental nod of understanding.

"And now, we duel - " began Voldemort, his next word - Crucio - already half formed on his lips.

Hermione, however, was faster.

"INCENDERE TELUM!" she yelled as she sprang up from her position of cover, an arrow of fire streaking forwards from the tip of her wand which she had levelled towards the centre of the group of Death Eaters.

Although intended as little more than a distraction to allow Harry to escape, in the resultant panic caused by her shouted incantation, not only was Harry able to disappear in the ensuing melee, but Wormtail, obviously attempting to flee from the source of the spell, was speared through the chest by the fiery projectile, his small watery eyes widening in horror as the magical weapon embedded itself through his torso, the smell of burnt flesh filling the air.

"SIEZE THEM!"

Immediately curses of every colour flew toward her position and she flattened her herself behind the headstone once more as Wormtails screams of agony were rendered mute almost immediately as he choked to death on his own blood, a detached part of her mind noting she experienced very little of the remorse she had expected to feel having extinguished the life of another sentient being.

At her back, the marble tombstone that shielded her cracked and fractured as dozens of potentially lethal spells slammed into it. _I can't stay here!_ she realised, her combat training kicking in banishing those self analytical thoughts for another, more appropriate time as she assessed her options, grimly coming to the conclusion that they were few. With no meaningful cover on either side of her it was only a matter of time before her position was either overrun by Death Eaters approaching from her flanks, or else destroyed through sheer brute force.

_The latter_, she realised, as a chunk the size of her head was blown off the tomb of Voldemort's father.

With no other options, Hermione summoned her courage, rose, and, noting dimly that the fear she expected to feel at such a moment was absent, threw caution to the wind and sprinted in the general direction her bond informed her that Harry lay. Not wanting to risk a stumble or fall on the uneven ground, Hermione didn't chance even a glance backwards as she threw down cover fire at her heels over her shoulder - the sound of scorched earth, splintering wood and fracturing stone filling her ears as she ran as fast as her legs would carry her towards the cover afforded by a small stone structure - presumably a family crypt of some sort.

She was within just a handful of seconds of making cover, when, out of the corner of her eye, she noted a jet of purple energy devouring the distance between them. _Damn! _she chastised herself, realising she had underestimated Voldemort's supporters. For whilst the majority had certainly been intent of employing their brute strength to batter her previous hiding place into dust, so overwhelming was their advantage in numbers, that she had been out flanked too.

As if in slow motion, Hermione calculated that her attackers aim had been both true and well timed - she no longer had enough time to reach cover before the vivid pulse struck her, and, although she did not recognise the particular spell streaking towards her, she sensed that taking a direct hit from it would be very bad indeed.

So, despite a certainty that there was not sufficient time, Hermione turned her wand to her right in the hope that even a partially raised _Protego_ could offer her some protection from the effects of the curse.

"DECLINO!" Harry's voice rang out through the cemetery from behind the very structure Hermione was making for, deflecting the spell harmlessly into a nearby wall, before Hermione could so much as mentally form the first letter of her _Shield Charm_.

Skidding to a halt behind the crypt, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps, Hermione gapped at her saviour.

"Just returning the favour," he grinned sheepishly.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, pulling the battered, but very much alive form of her bond mate into a fierce hug. "We've got to get out of here," she added, as a new torrent of spells struck the small mausoleum they had taken cover behind. "Give me your hand."

Unquestioningly, Harry complied, and, focusing all her thoughts on the front step of Number Twelve Grimauld Place - the first safe haven that had come to her mind - Hermione spun on the spot, promptly falling on her behind dragging Harry to the ground with her, simultaneous exhalations of air escaping their lips as they landed in a heap.

_Anti-appartion wards_, she realised as she scrambled to her feet, recognising she would be unable to transport either of them beyond the next headstone, let alone the four hundred odd miles to central London.

"We've got to get beyond the wards," concluded Harry, either intuitively understanding their situation or having arrived at the same point having 'heard' his bond mates thoughts.

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione nodded resolutely and tightened her grip on the shaft of her wand.

Wordlessly agreeing to make their way to the boundary wall of the cemetery, Harry and Hermione broke cover, their hammering footfalls drawing fire immediately, sending them zigzagging in opposite directions.

Harry threw himself to the left, but Hermione's chosen path was overgrown and thick brambles, the branches and thorns tearing at her skin and ripping her clothing as her feet pounded relentlessly towards sanctuary, her wand arm a blur as she cast spell after spell towards her assailants, the satisfying grunts and occasional thuds informing her that she had wounded and had even succeeded in felling some of her attackers.

A strangled yelp of pain that could only have been Harry sounded somewhere to her left, and she skidded to a halt.

"Harry!"

_I'm okay, Hermione. _Harry's voice filled her thoughts. _It's just a scratch...get to the boundary._

"INCIDERE!" yelled a gruff voice to her right, firing a cutting spell in the general direction of her voice.

Hermione threw herself to the earth but the curse was surprisingly well aimed and she still felt a searing white hot pain explode in her shoulder as the spell grazed her left arm.

"I've got one of them!" her assailant shouted out in triumph as she hit the ground with a soft grunt.

However, just as Hermione's earlier panicked calls for Harry had alerted him to her location, his voice permitted her to do the same.

Ignoring the pain in her arm, Hermione rolled to her back and sent a silent stunner in her assailants direction - a heavy grunt followed by the satisfying thud of his dead weight hitting the dirt confirming she had hit her mark.

Not risking so much as a glance at her injury, Hermione scrambled to her feet and urged her lactic acid filled muscles into motion again, however there was no denying that she was tiring. Her ears were filled with the sound of her hammering heartbeat and her breaths now came in short painful rasps as she fought to pull down enough precious oxygen to fill her aching lungs.

"Enough!" Voldemort's almost omnipresent voice boomed out across the graveyard. "Decipio."

Hermione had just enough time to translate the route Latin of the unfamiliar spell - _ensnare_ - as her right foot was snagged in a vine which had risen from the ground beneath her. Stumbling slightly, she tried to arrest her fall by pulling other foot forwards but was thwarted as another thick tendril ensnared her ankle, dragging her to the floor.

Breaking her fall with her forearms, Hermione kicked and flailed in an attempt to free herself from the rapidly moving vines."ABRUMPIO!" she bellowed, severing one tendril but to no avail as more and more entwined themselves around her body quicker than she could blast them away.

Within a matter of seconds, and, for the second time that evening, she found herself bound bound tightly, her slight frame lifted to the vertical by an unseen spell.

"A little girl?" sneered Voldemort stepping out from behind a tombstone some thirty meters away, placing particular emphasis on the second word. "A little girl sent to protect The-Boy-Who-Lived? Is this the best that Dumbledore can offer to his champion of the light?"

Laughter rang out across the cemetery as those servants who remained regrouped behind their master, but the vines had now constricted around Hermione's mouth rendering her defiant response mute.

"This ends now," bellowed Voldemort to the night air. "Harry Potter! Surrender to your Lord and I will permit this - this _girl_ to live!"

_Don't do it Harry!_ she all but screamed in her mind.

"Throw down your wand and show yourself," demanded Voldemort.

Hermione allowed herself a brief moment of satisfaction as only silence greeted the Dark Lords ultimatum.

"I thought he would come ... I expected him to come," said Voldemort softly, and in that instant Hermione knew exactly what would happen next

Voldemort raised his wand high overhead, slashing it forward as he spoke the two words Hermione dreaded above all others; "Avada Kedavra!"

For the second time that evening, time seemed to slow as Hermione watched in detached fascination as the vivid green bolt of energy lanced towards her. To her left her eyes noted the tell-tale quiver she had come to associate with the removal of an invisibility cloak.

Pulling off the hallow, Harry's form resolved at a full on sprint three strides to her side.

_HARRY NO! _

Hermione wanted to scream aloud, but, even as the killing curse struck her bond mate square in the chest, some of the deadly energy must have spilt passed his makeshift shield as, even before she could witness the form of her beloveds body crumple to the floor, all awareness was torn away from her.

And then, there was nothing.

* * *

><p><em>AM – Ducks torrent of abuse for yet ANOTHER cliffhanger. On the plus side, I managed to update twice in 7 days, so YAY me!_

_Well, aside from the hate mail I'm likely to get for ending things there, I'm pretty satisfied with this chapter. Having Hermione's awake in Harry's body was a nice way to get over the hurdle of keeping things in Hermione PoV (soul bonds are so convenient like that) but also provided a way for Hermione to know exactly where to go to find him when she came around in her own body._

_Some will no doubt ask where Harry's conciousness was during this time; well, in my mind at any rate, as it was Hermione's magical core that underwent the expansion following the merger with her elderself (and therefore powered Harry's accelerated magical growth by virtue of the bond), Hermione's conciousness is the 'prime' for want of a better term, so Harry was in there somewhere, just unaware._

_Oh, BTW, I don't know where I've read this line before 'Fear - this kind of cold, rigid fear - was new to her, and she found herself unable to move or cry out, too frightened even to whimper'_ _but I'm sure it's not mine – good line though, so kudos to whomever wrote it._


	21. Chapter 21 The Trouble with Time

_**A/N **__- For those of you reading multiple fics, there is a recap of the story so far bellow my author musings (sounds much better than author notes, right?) at the bottom of this chapter to help you remember exactly what has occurred so far._

_Short chapter this time guys and girls. Just to tide you over whilst I work on the conclusion to my little story._

_Disclaimer: I've got the books, I own the DVD's, I've even got the Lego figures, but I still don't own Potter._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty One - The Trouble with Time<strong>

Silence.

Hermione awoke to a silence more complete than any she had ever experienced before. The complete lack of esthesis neither comforting nor worrying to her - it simply was.

She was in no doubt that, in the mortal world at least (for Hermione was now completely certain that she was dead), her active mind would have found the term '_awakening_' somewhat lacking in its description of her returning sense of self awareness. But here, in a place where neither she nor her surroundings appeared to have any form or substance what so ever, it hardly seemed to matter much, and instead she simply revelled in the solitude and silence.

Except it wasn't.

As soon as she had reached the conclusion that she was little more than disembodied thoughts in a vast sea of emptiness, she became aware that she was not alone; the sounds of her own breaths - which until now she had not registered - commingling with those of another somewhere nearby.

Like the first drips of a dam about to break, those sensations quickly gave way to a torrent of other returning senses; her sense of touch informing her that, in addition to having a body of her own, she was also lying _upon_ something, banishing her earlier notion that she was nothing more than a free floating consciousness once and for all.

With the understanding that she did have a body, Hermione knew that she must also have eyes, and she opened them to find herself lying face down in a world of mist, the unmistakable form of Harry at her side, their fingers all but touching.

His dark hair had flopped forward over his closed eyes completely covering his scar, and his glasses were nowhere in sight. He was also as naked as the day he had been born. A state of undress, Hermione suddenly came to realise, that she too shared.

Reaching out with the fingers of her right hand she brushed her fingertips against those of her beloveds and was rewarded with a soft smile as his eyelids fluttered open to reveal his dazzling green eyes through the wayward strands of his raven hair; his gaze lovingly tracing the contours of her naked form as if attempting to commit her every curve to memory for all eternity.

Returning his gentle smile, Hermione noted dimly that being naked in front of Harry for the first time elicited none of the embarrassment she had expected to feel at such a moment.

_So this is what death feels like?_ she mused_, _before adding with an approximation of a mental shrug; _Could be worse._

It was at that moment that a new noise reached her ears through the fog of nothingness which surrounded them: the soft thumping of something that flapped, flailed and struggled.

It was pitiful, but also slightly indecent and Hermione made to protect her modesty with her arms, wishing, for the first time since arriving in this strange place, that she had some clothes.

Before the thought could fully coalesce within her mind, two sets of robes appeared a short distance away, and the couple wordlessly agreed to pull the garments on, scrambling to their feet as they did so.

Turning slowly on the spot, both teenagers took in the vast expanse of emptiness which they inhabited;

Except it wasn't empty.

Not anymore.

The more they looked, the more there was to see. As if their surroundings were being invented before their very eyes.

They now appeared to be standing half way up a heather covered hillside which stood on a peninsular of land stretching far out to sea, the dazzling light of the sun glittering and dancing on the surface of the vast expanse of water which stretched towards infinity bellow them. With no wind to speak of, the sounds of the sea were not carried to their ears, and, as a result, all was hushed and still.

All except for those odd whimpering noises which still sounded from somewhere nearby in the mist.

"Up there," said Harry, nodding his head towards the source of the sound farther up the hillside.

Turning her head towards the summit of the hill, Hermione's gaze fell upon something she initially mistook to be the hulking outlines of several giants; the massive forms of dozens of intricately carved standing stones reaching towards the cloudless sky resolving from the mist instead. They were arranged in a near perfect circle, and, although she couldn't be certain from her current vantage point, also appeared to sport four rows of megaliths moving away from the central circle like the points of a compass.

"I know this place," she said sotto voce.

"You should."

"You both should."

Nearly jumping out of their skins upon receiving a reply to her whispered statement, both Harry and Hermione spun to face the newcomers; their voices (both instantaneously recognisable and yet conversely an impossibility at the same moment) the first indication that they were not alone - their approach given away neither by the rustle of heather nor the sound of footsteps.

The two figures stood just a handful of paces downhill, both wearing expressions of contentment and robes of purest white. Their hands, whilst not quite conjoined - more like the the gentlest of caress - conveyed the love they shared for one another a hundred times more powerfully than if they had been locked in a passionate embrace.

"B - but," spluttered Hermione inarticulately. "You're ... me. I mean ... _us!_" she concluded in disbelief as she gave voice to the first of a thousand thoughts that had exploded in her mind as soon as she had set eyes on the couple.

"Yes," said the woman with a warm smile, the action revealing the traces of a few fine age lines around the corners of her mouth and eyes. "We are."

Hermione worked her jaw in an attempt to voice the question poised on her tongue_ - but how?_ However, each time she opened her mouth to give form to those thoughts, she quickly closed it again having been rendered mute by the impossibility of what her senses were telling her.

Fortunately, it seemed that her elder counterpart had anticipated such a questions and spoke as if Hermione had posed it aloud;

"_How?"_ she asked knowingly. "In short, I died."

"So...that means we're dead too?" asked Harry, having found his voice for the first time since the newcomers appearance.

Having already made peace with that particular revelation herself, Hermione was surprised to note the surge of anger that ran through her as the statement left Harry's lips; anger, she quickly came to realise, that was directed towards Harry.

"Dammit Harry, you didn't have to die for me," she snapped, the words spilling past her lips before she could stop them. "Why do you always have to be so noble?" she demanded, making no effort to mask her rising ire from either Harry or their elder selves as the memory of her final moments on earth suddenly returned to her - a flash of green energy spilling past Harry's torso.

Where once, Harry would have grown defensive at such an accusation, that reaction, Hermione realised, was from another time - another life. Instead he merely said: "There's no me without you, Hermione."

Whether induced by the sincerity of his words, or by the look he fixed her with - one which conveyed his complete peace with his decision to throw down his life in an attempt to save hers - Hermione felt the anger within her drain away as quickly as it had arisen, her eyes now swimming with unshed tears as she assimilated the magnitude of her bond mates sacrifice. "B-but you still could have still beaten him," she said, her voice taking on a far softer, almost pleading quality.

"Hardly," cut in the elder Harry, breaking the spell and reminding the two teenagers that they were not alone.

"I'm sorry?" replied Hermione, turning to face the older version of her husband. "I don't understand."

To her surprise the elder Harry actually chuckled at that. "No, I don't suppose you would," he said. "I'm not even sure I fully understand it all," he added, "and I've had more than a decade to wrap my head around it."

To her side, Hermione could sense the impatience radiating off _her_ Harry, but he held his tongue, perhaps sensing his elder self had more to add.

He was right.

"What I can guarantee" added the elder Harry, "is that neither of you are dead."

Harry's expression grew doubtful in response to the assurances of his counterpart. "How can you be so sure? You said it yourself," he added, shooting a quick glance towards the elder Hermione, "you're dead. How do you know we're not?"

Hermione's counterpart did not answer straight away. Instead she turned toward her own Harry, the back of her conjoined index and middle fingers lovingly tracing down his cheek. "Do you remember when you were like that?" she asked softly, receiving a wry grin in return. "So forthright and demanding..." Obviously lost in her memories, the elder Hermione allowed her words to trail away for a moment. "There's so much we have to tell you," she added after a short silence, an almost maternal smile gracing her lips as she refocused on the teenagers before her. "Let us sit."

Silently accepting the proposal, the quartet lowered themselves onto the soft heather facing one another in a rough circle.

Harry's counterpart was the first to speak;

"I know you are not dead, Harry" he stated with conviction, "because I have been here before. Although I have to admit it didn't look like much like this," he said. "Where are we anyway?"

"The standing stones of Callanish." The answer came in stereo from both the elder Hermione and her younger counterpart.

For her part, Hermione felt rather surprised that she had possessed the knowledge to answer such a question, but, taking a moment to access the memories, found that she did indeed know a great deal about the structure her subconscious now reminded her was often referred to as the 'stone henge of the north'.

"Hmmf," grunted Harry by way of reply. "It was Kings Cross station for me."

A thoughtful, far away look passed across the features of Hermione's counterpart. "Actually," she said after a moments consideration. "That makes a great deal of sense. Kings Cross is where you started your journey, and this - " she gestured to their shimmering surroundings " - is where I started mine...or I guess," she amended with a smile directed towards her younger self, "where _yours_ started, Hermione."

Suddenly with complete access to the memories her elder self had implanted in her mind, Hermione knew precisely to what her counterpart referred to, seeing the ritual she had performed atop this very hillside some fifteen subjective years into the future in her minds eye. She was about to explain it to Harry, when turning to face him, she saw understanding bloom in his emerald eyes.

"Your memories!" he exclaimed intuitively. "This is where you came to send them back."

"More or less," agreed the elder Hermione, tipping her head from one side to another as she answered. "Although, I had intended to send more than just my memories back," she admitted. "Although, as you can see," she added gesturing to her white robes, "I failed at that endeavour."

Hermione furrowed her brow as her mind alerted her to the fact that her counterpart had just referred to her death in the singular, and, knowing herself as well as she did, knew it would not have been a simple slip of the tongue. "Forgive me," she said, switching her eye line towards Harry's counterpart, "but why are you here then?" she asked, feeling rather uncomfortable quizzing someone on the cause of their death.

"The same reason you are," replied the elder Harry. "Because the other half of us died."

Hermione lapsed in silence as she contemplated the implications of his revelations. _Our bond! _she realised, arriving at the only logical conclusion as the rest of her silent musings were interrupted by Harry;

"So...even if I hadn't tried to save Hermione," he said, deliberately speaking slowly as he sometimes did in class when he thought he was about to say something foolish, "we would have still both died when the killing curse struck her?"

"As I thought we'd already agreed, Harry," rebuked his counterpart, "you are most definitely not dead. Although I do believe that your sacrifice will prove most _beneficial_ upon your return," he concluded thoughtfully.

After a beat, when it became clear that both Harry and Hermione were too confused to form any sort of coherent sentence, he added;

"You were a Horcrux, Harry," and he fixed his younger counterpart with a look which demanded his statement had to be believed. "One Riddle never intended to create. He had rendered his soul so unstable by committing those acts of unspeakable evil - killing our parents, attempting to murder us in our bed - that, when he fled the room after his failed attempt on our lives, he left more than his mortal body behind. He left part of himself latched to me...to _you_..."

The elder Harry's impassioned words were interrupted by the resumption of the anguished whimpering noises from farther up the hillside.

"What is that?" asked Hermione, turning her gaze towards the sound and voicing the question she could also see etched on her husbands features.

"Something that is beyond any of our help," replied the elder Harry evenly, but there was something in his tone quirked Hermione's interest. It was almost as if he had rehearsed that very line, or, at the very least, had heard it spoken by someone else.

However, she had little time to consider the matter further before she registered that her elder counterpart was speaking once more.

"It is a part of Voldemort sent here to die," she said by way of explanation.

Hermione's eyes widened as her subconscious highlighted the connection between the fact that the elder Harry had referred to the Horcrux Harry apparently possessed in the past tense, and her elder selves previous statement. "The Horcrux? It's gone?"

"Yes," confirmed the elder Harry, "gone for good."

Harry lifted a trembling hand to the spot where his lightning bolt scar should have resided, but found it absent as he pushed his fringe of hair aside. "I still don't understand how that makes us anything other than dead though," he said shakily.

The elder Harry chortled. "I said much the same thing to Dumbledore," he said, but did not expand on his puzzling statement any further. "Riddle took your blood, Harry. Used it to rebuild his living body. Your blood runs through his veins, and as such he has tethered you, and, by extension - " he flashed a glance towards Hermione " - your bond mate to life while he still lives."

Hermione let out a short gasp. "Nagini," she whispered in awe, realising that Voldemort's remaining Horcrux now anchored them to life as readily as it did for him, the realisation leaving her with a sense of being somehow unclean.

"Yes," agreed the elder Harry, apparently unaware of Hermione's internal revulsion. "The snake is the last one."

Hermione nodded as a realisation settled upon her. "We have to go back, don't we?"

"Got to?" repeated her elder self. "No, Hermione, you do not _have_ to do anything - "

" - But know this," chimed in the elder Harry, seamlessly finishing her sentence, "when I chose to return I was able to finish Riddle off once and for all. I can't promise you that you will manage the same - so much is different now - but I think you would have a good chance."

Beside her, Hermione saw Harry set his jaw, and knew, even before the words issued forth from his mouth, that he would agree without hesitation to return, his determination to fulfil his destiny eliciting matching soft smiles on the faces of their elder selves.

"There's still just one thing I don't understand," said Harry, as they all wordlessly agreed to rise, sensing perhaps that their time together was close to an end. "If this really is the afterlife and not just something going on inside our heads, where's everyone else? Shouldn't my Mum and Dad be here?"

The elder Hermione regarded him tenderly for a moment before answering, obviously recognising the deep longing that Harry's tone betrayed. "They've moved on," she said simply. "It's hard to explain, but think of this as something like a waiting room."

"A waiting room for what?" Harry wanted to know.

By way of reply his counterpart took the hand of of his Hermione and replied with a wide smile; "The next adventure."

The mist, which still surrounded them on all sides, chose that very moment to descend around them once more as a new thought was pushed to the forefront of Hermione's mind.

"But if this is a waiting room," she wondered aloud even as the mist began to obscure the figures of their counterparts, "why are you here? Our deaths were years apart."

"That's the trouble with time." The elder Hermione's voice was loud and clear despite being the speaker being almost lost in the haze. "It has no meaning here."

"We are both quite alone," rang out the voice of the elder Harry from the somewhere within the bright mist, "yet also surrounded by everyone who has ever passed through this place - "

" - and everyone who ever will," concluded the now distant voice of Hermione's counterpart as the last trace of her outline was lost to sight. "As wishing you future happiness would seem oddly self serving," her disembodied voice added, growing fainter with every moment, "I shall simply wish you good luck."

With that the world flared into brilliant white light and Hermione knew no more.

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><p><em><strong>AM -**__ I thought I was **soooo** clever when I decided who Harry and Hermione would 'meet' in limbo. Until I tried to write it that is! I hope it wasn't too confusing trying to figure out who was speaking and when...all that elder Harry/Hermione's counterpart stuff did my head in after a while! _

_I should also add that this chapter was originally going to be much longer, but I decided to stick with JK's established structure of having limbo as a separate chapter instead of my original plan to have the second act of this chapter being Harry and Hermione's return to the graveyard._

_Aside from the annoying question of how to address the elder Harry and Hermione, I quite enjoyed this chapter, and it was nice to give them something of a happy ending as they go on to their 'next big adventure.' I hope you all liked it._

_Oh, and as someone finally got my reference from way back in chapter fourteen (a hundred points to dragon guardian for spotting the Quantum Leap reference...and yes I remember Early Edition...great show!) another one hundred points for the first reviewer who can spot the paraphrase from a recent movie in this chapter._

_And finally, as a fair bit of this chapter was lifted straight from canon, a tip of my hat to JK at this point._


	22. Chapter 22 The Pain of War

_**A/N** - I'm a bad, bad man for making you wait so long for this update. I could blame it on one of a thousand things but the simple truth is that I've been having one of my moments of self doubt and nothing I wrote felt good enough. You can all thank my lovely beta, Katesmom2 for finally convincing me to upload it. That said, any mistakes left are very much my own. (BTW, if you are sad that this Harmony time travel fic is near its end, head over to my beta's profile page - she's just started an awesome one of her own and I urge you to check out her first fanfiction)_

_For those of you reading multiple fics, there is a recap of the story so far bellow my author musings (sounds much better than author notes, right?) at the bottom of this chapter to help you remember exactly what has occurred so far._

_Disclaimer: I didn't own Potter when I started this story and I nothing has changed on that front since._

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><p><strong>Chapter Twenty Two - The Pain of War<strong>

Hermione regained consciousness to find herself once more lying face down in the dirt._ I've got to stop coming around like this, _she thought groggily as the pain from the wounds in her shoulder and elsewhere on her battered body reasserted themselves upon her newly reawakened mind.

However, whilst it was true that her body did ache dreadfully, she did note, with no small amount of relief, that her injuries appeared largely superficial. In addition to escaping from her ordeal largely unharmed, it also appeared as though the magical bindings which had held her fast prior to her 'death' had released their grip on her body.

Surreptitiously testing them confirmed her theory; the vines were now merely draped loosely around her body as opposed to cutting off her circulation, as they had a subjective lifetime ago.

Comfortingly, she could still feel the weight of her wand in her hand, and the slight lump she felt pressed against her stomach confirmed that the resurrection stone was still safely nestled in her robe pocket.

She would have pushed herself to her feet at that point were it not for the sounds of several sets of hurried footstep nearby, the familiar scents of the dewy grass and the remnants of something which smelt like gunpowder reminding her of the fact that she was very much still behind enemy lines. The knowledge that she was still surrounded by a dozen or so of Voldemort's newly reformed Death Eaters encouraging her to remain very still.

"My Lord... My Lord!" the unmistakable voice of Lucius Malfoy called out through the still night air. There was, however, no disguising the note of panic evident in his aristocratic tone.

Desperate to know what was going on, Hermione made to open her eyes, but was halted as Harry's voice rang out in her mind to assuage her of that notion.

_Don't move, Hermione_, he said urgently, his 'tone' brokering no argument. _We don't want to give up the element of surprise. They still think we're dead, remember?_

Offering only a mental nod by way of reply, Hermione accepted the rebuke realising she had not been thinking straight. Reaching out instead with her other senses, she attempted to explore their situation more thoroughly, all the while attempting to maintain the charade of death by keeping her body limp and her breaths shallow.

She listened as several other voices, each conveying their concern as readily as the last, called out to their master. _No, not concern,_ she mentally corrected; _anxiety_. Those cowardly enough to hide behind the mask of the Death Eaters held no concern for anyone or anything but themselves.

The voices of Voldemort's army fell silent as the footsteps of their owners converged on one spot. A spot Hermione estimated to be no more that twenty meters in front where she and Harry lay. The exact spot, she recalled with a start, that Voldemort had been standing when he had issued his ultimatum to Harry.

Hope swelled in her chest;_ Please let it have backfired! Please let him be dead by his own hand!_

Her sanguine hopes proved to be fleeting however, as Voldermort's cold voice filled the hushed silence which had settled over the graveyard;

"That will do."

Immediately, Hermione heard the sounds of those same footsteps shuffling away from their master.

Reasoning that her foes attention would be completely focused on Voldemort, Hermione opened her eyes just far enough to peer through her lashes to find a scene much as the one she had pictured in her minds eye.

The assembled Death Eaters were backing away from Voldemort, who, like herself and Harry, had apparently also collapsed to the ground. He was recovering quickly however, and had now pushed himself into a semi-seated position, supported by his elbows.

Not wishing their rouse to be discovered, Hermione forced herself not to frown as her mind frantically worked over the new information, her logical mind permitting her to see past extraneous detail to draw a possible conclusion. _Is it possible, _she wondered,_ that the destruction of a Horcrux weakens him somehow?_

_It certainly looks that way. _

Although Hermione had not expected an answer, fortuitously she had grown so familiar with the experience of sharing Harry's thoughts, that the unexpected sound of his voice in her mind did not make her jump.

_Destroying my Horcrux nearly killed him,_ continued Harry, the approximation of his voice within her mind sounding both perplexed that he had ever been home to a piece of soul of the darkest wizard of the century, yet simultaneously elated that their link had now been severed.

If it had been safe to do so, Hermione would have pursed her lips together to express her doubts on the validity of the hypothesis. Logically of course, it all fit, but Hermione Granger was nothing if not thorough and knew equally well that she did not possess sufficient knowledge at that point to elevate her conclusion from the realm of theory to cast iron fact.

Harry, still listening in to her thoughts, replied with the equivalent of a mental shrug_. I'd take one of your theories over most peoples hard evidence any day of the week_, _Hermione_, he added sincerely.

_If nothing else_, she conceded, hoping Harry's compliment had not caused her cheeks to burn,_ it is a possible weakness_.

Even with powers far in excess of those of regular school children their age, Hermione was not deluded enough to believe that either she or Harry were a match for the self styled Lord Voldemort - alone or together. However, if killing Nagini were to leave him vulnerable - even for a few seconds - it might just give them the edge they needed to bring him down for good.

From behind the shield of her lashes, Hermione strained her eyes as far as she could manage in every direction without moving her head, but could find no trace of the great snake, her vision instead coming to rest once more on the spot which Voldemort had fallen.

By now, Voldemort's supporters had backed away with heads bowed to a respectful distance, thus allowing Hermione a chance to study the Dark Lord through the sea of legs. Only Lucius Malfoy remanded at his side, and, although she was the first to admit that it might have been her imagination playing tricks on her, to Hermione's eyes, Voldemort's skin, always almost bone white, appeared even more ashen than usual, the veins in his temples more pronounced lending wieght to her hypothesis.

"My Lord," said Malfoy, his gloved hand extended towards his master. "Allow me..."

"I do not require assistance, Lucius," Voldemort interrupted, his scarlet gaze boring into his servant until Lucius too backed away.

Pushing himself to his feet, a cruel smile twisted the corners of Voldemort's serpentine features as he assimilated the sight of the apparently lifeless corpses of both Harry and Hermione lying on the ground before him.

Closing her eyes immediately, Hermione forced herself not to screw them too tightly shut in an attempt to maintain the illusion of death.

"Ha!" jeered Voldemort after a short pause. "The-boy-who-lived is dead!"

His proclamation of victory was met with a wall of noise as the Death Eater's shouted and cheered in triumph.

"Dead by my hand!"

The tumultuous noise that followed sickened Hermione to her core. _These monsters are actually celebrating our deaths_, she realised as she fought the bile back down her throat, schooling her features to show none of the revulsion she felt.

Voldemort was speaking again although now his voice had taken on a more distant quality which Hermione took to mean he had turned his back on their dead bodies to address his Death Eaters. "No man can stand against me now!" he crowed, his statement eliciting another wave of delirious cheers.

Simultaneoulsy, Harry's voice filled her mind again.

_Be ready to move on my mark, Hermione, _he said, his 'voice' sounding unnaturally calm.

_Perhaps they'll just leave us here if they think we're dead, _she thought back, albeit more in hope than in expectation. She knew that even a cursory examination would reveal her traitorous heartbeat plusing rapidly on her exposed neck.

_Riddle's not done with us yet, _replied Harry._ It's not enough that he thinks we're dead, he'll want to humiliate us._

Unable to deny the truth of his words, Hermione projected just two words back across their link;_ I'm ready._

Even through her closed eyelids, Hermione could sense the Dark Lord approaching, his bare footfalls vibrating through the earth her cheek rested against providing her minds eye with the imagery her physical eyes were unable to perceive at that moment of the self styled Lord Voldemort strutting back and forth before their bodies in triumph.

_Steady_, counselled Harry.

"And now," exclaimed Voldemort, his cruel voice echoing through the cemetery once more, "we shall see what fate befalls those who dare oppose their Lord..."

_Now!_

For Hermione, several things happened at once:

Tightening her grip around the shaft of her wand, ready to defend herself against the non-verbal, but doubtless dark magic, Voldemort had unleashed to desecrate their bodies, Hermione opened her eyes and sprang to her feet. However, as her pupils dilated to cope with the unexpectedly bright light which filled the graveyard as if it were lit by the full luster of the midday sun, she saw that far from wearing the look of sadistic pleasure she had expected, Voldemort's snaked-like features were contorted with rage, disbelief, and, if she were any judge of such matters, _fear_.

Harry was on his feet in front of her, both of his hands seizing the shaft of his wand which appeared to buck and vibrate in his hand, connected as it was to the opaque dome of the shield he had erected to protect them, it's surface rippling and flaring white hot as it diverted the potentially lethal energies away.

"Impossible!" Voldemort was enraged, his voice high and shrill as his servants looked on in mute disbelief, their faith in their master visibly shaken by Harry's, and now Hermione's apparent resurrection.

Scrambling to her feet, Hermione threw down cover fire around the edge of Harry's impressive shield, sending the stunned, and clearly un-nerved Death Eaters diving for cover.

"Fools! spat Voldemort, who did not so much as flinch as Hermione's curses blew chunks out of marble headstones and gouged great, smoking craters in the earth at his feet. "Are you afraid of mere children? Kill them both, or feel the wrath of your Lord!"

"MOVE!" called Harry. He grabbed her hand, and, capitalising on the Death Eaters brief hesitation, urged her into motion again.

Having obviously adjudged that even his powerful shield could not protect them against such an onslaught from the superior numbers they faced, Harry, literally dragging Hermione with him, threw his body to the left just in time to witness a dozen hexes of every hue imaginable pummel the tombstone they had been standing in front of mere moments ago into dust, Voldemort's venomous orders ringing loud in their ears; "End their lives or yours will not be worth living!"

They were running again now, their legs little more than a blur as they sprinted for all their worth in an attempt to shake their pursuers - but to no avail. Despite the fact that, subjectively at least, the earlier act of the battle they were now in the middle of again had taken place several hours ago at least, the lactic acid which filled their muscles and slowed their progress, spoke to the fact that, in reality, almost no time had passed at all.

Behind them, gruff, disembodied voices could easily be heard yelling out curses over the thunderous sound of their footfalls as they pounded side-by-side through the maze of tombs, their pursuers intent no longer to wound or to capture, but merely to destroy or to kill. Poorly aimed hexes slammed into gravestones on all sides of them filling the air with copious quanities of dust, effectively blinding them to all but their immediate surroundings.

"DOWN!" yelled Harry, pushing Hermione to the ground for a second time as a lurid green curse sizzled past overhead.

With no time to put her hands out to arrest her fall, Hermione landed heavily on the compacted earth, the impact forcing the air from her lungs with a soft grunt.

"Go!" shouted Harry who scrambled to his feet as soon as the imminent danger had passed.

If time and circumstance had permitted such a train of thought, Hermione might have wondered if it was Harry's quidditch honed reflexes which gave him the appearance of a level of intuition which bordered on extra sensory perception. Instead, she focused on her bond mates shouts, realising she had probably remained immobile too long;

"Hermione!" he exclaimed, grasping her forearm tightly, "we've got to move," he added, pulling her roughly to her feet to resume their flight.

"Head for the church!" she panted with difficulty as Harry pulled her along beside him, acting as part pacemaker, part crutch, whilst she fought to regain her breath.

Without questioning her reasoning, Harry swung towards the eastern edge of the cemetery, where the dilapidated, vaulted roof of the abandoned church could still be seen rising out of the haze of destruction which hung like a mist over the battlefield.

"BOMBARDA!" yelled Hermione as they stumbled down the handful of time worn stone steps, the boarded up entrance turning to kindling under the force of her spell, permitting them access.

The interior was redolent with mold and decay, and was largely shrouded in shadow. The only light came in the form of several shafts of moonlight spilling in past the haphazardly boarded up windows; it's rays casting an eerie glow on the several rows of wooden pews which remained in place either side of the church's central aisle. Surprisingly, despite the obviously long years of disuse, they were covered in only a thin layer of dust.

"We can't hope to escape when they out number us so badly," gasped Hermione between great lungfuls of air as she paraphrased one of the lessons Sirius and Remus had given them in advanced defence. "We've got to draw them into close quarters..." she started.

"...and try to reduce their advantage," concluded Harry.

Realeasing his hand, Hermione cast a silent disillusionment charm over herself and followed it up by adding a thin layer of anti-detection wards to the interior of the church to lessen their adversaries advantages. Satisfied with her work she dropped into a prone position between the rows of wooden pews, her wand trained on the entrance.

A moment later Harry had followed suit and had taken up an identical position opposite her, his father's invisibility cloak hiding his slight frame from view just in time as the dark sihouettes of several Death Eaters appeared a moment later in the arched door frame.

"Master!" called one from the doorway. "They're in here."

If the Dark Lord replied, Hermione could not hear it over the pounding of her heart, but she knew her anti-detection wards were holding as she sensed the touch of a _Detector Charm _probing against the walls of her protective enchantment.

"Lumos," muttered a different voice as she felt the spell cease its fruitless attempts to locate them. Several others followed suit until Hermione counted as many as seven shafts of light as the Death Eaters fanned out within the confines of the church, presumably to instigate a methodical search pattern of some sort.

_We've got to make the first move,_ projected Harry.

He was right.

Although unable to search for their quarry by magical means, the Death Eaters would, if nothing else, stumble (quite literally) over them eventually, no matter how many magical defenses either of them employed to hide themselves.

Sensing that Harry was looking directly at the spot he knew she lay, Hermione gave a subtle nod of her head by way of reply, knowing that he would be able to discern the almost imperceptible ripple effect of her disillusionment charm as it attempted to disguise her movements.

It was a message she hoped he had received as a moment later the bulky outline of the legs of one of the larger Death Eaters lumbered past Hermione's hiding place, his ponderous locomotion conjuring the terrifying image of the troll that had nearly killed her four years ago in her minds eye as his wand light swept from side to side as he tried in vain to locate them.

Harry reacted first.

As the hulking Death Eater swung the beam of light to his right and away from Harry's hiding place, Hermione saw the tip of his wand emerge from under the cloak, a crackling chord of energy shooting forth an instant later.

Before the Death Eater could so much as blink, the chords had ensnared themselves around his ankles, and, like a cowboy tightening a lassoe, Harry snapped his wand arm backwards, promptly pulling the Death Eaters legs together. Overbalancing, the heavyweight tumbled gracelessly to the floor, his nose making contact with the solid stone flooring with a sickening sound that was both a wet squelch and a loud crack.

Hollering in pain commingled with anger, the Death Eater levelled his wand towards the source of the spell which had felled him, but was rendered silent before he could utter so much as a single curse by the twin beams of crimson energy which slammed into his prone form leaving him either unconcious or dead; the sounds of the scuffle having drawn the blind fire of two of his comrades.

Making use of what a muggle soldier might have termed their muzzle flashes, Hermione pushed up from her hiding place and levelled her wand towards the last known position of her nearest enemy and released a barrage of energy; the heavy thud following her silent stunning spell confirming that her aim had been true.

_Two down,_ she thought with grim satisfaction as she droped behind cover once more.

But even as she recalculated their chances of survival ever so slightly higher, the air crackled with a renewed attack from the remaining Death Eaters who had also made use of the brief flash of her scarlet stunner to home in on her position.

Flung backwards by the force of the combined spells which blasted apart the wooden pews she had sought refuge behind, Hermione let out a strangled yelp; one that was part surprise and part stabbing pain, her skin peppered with sharp splinters from the wooden pews, the shards imbedding themselves painfully in her flesh as she was hurled towards the southern wall of the church.

Compartmentalising her mind against the pain, Hermione applied her combat training and forced her body to remain limp. However, any notion of being able to simply absorb the blow and roll away from her attackers, was driven from her mind by the white hot flare of pain which lanced through her body as first her spine, followed by the back of her skull made heavy contact with the unyielding stone wall. Stars exploded in her vision and Hermione crumpled to the floor in an unceremonious heap, the clatter of wood on stone informing the detached part of her mind that was not consumed with pain that her wand had slipped from her grasp.

"It's the girl!" called out one of the unseen Death Eaters.

Lifting a battered and bleeding hand, Hermione noted dimly that, in addition to the obvious signs of concussion and the painful grating of what felt like several broken ribs, her disillusionment charm had also failed. _Well that's just peachy! _

"My Lord!" shouted another, directing his voice through the obliterated doorway. "We have the girl!"

Though her vision was dancing with stars, and the church was now shrouded in dust from the firefight, Hermione could still clearly make out the ghostly visage of Lord Voldemort's snake-like face appearing in the archway, the coiling form of Nagini following close at his heels. Or at least where she presumed his heels were; so similar were his robes in hue to the inky blackness of night, that Voldemort appeared as little more than a disembodied head.

"You have done well, Avery," he said, his timbre having regained much of it's aura of control as the one called Avery gave a low bow.

Neither expecting nor awaiting a reply from his servant, Voldemort turned his attention towards the giant snake behind him. ""Nagini, kill! Bleed her dry!"

The giant serpent's forked tongue flicked through the air several times, searching for her scent, before presumably locating it's quarry and slithering over the debris of the battle towards Hermione.

Heart pounding in terror, Hermione pushed herself backwards with her legs, the one palm she was not using to support her weight scouring the debris strewn floor for the wand she knew had fallen somewhere nearby. But even as she edged backwards inch by tortuous inch - the effort exacting a heavy price on her already battered body - Hermione knew it to be a futile effort; the extra distance she had managed to put between herself and the snake merely prolonging the inevitable.

The snake was fifteen meters away.

Ten; it's tongue tasting the air hungrily.

Five; it's thick body coiling, ready to attack...

"LEAVE HER ALONE!"

Hermione released a wheezing breath she had been unaware of holding as Harry's voice echoed within the confines of the small church, a powerful bolt of energy slamming into the ground in front of Nagini, sending the snake recoiling a few feet and preventing her from striking.

"Potter!"

Hermione, along with every other set of eyes in the room, followed Voldemort's gaze toward the source of Harry's voice as he threw back his invisibility cloak to reveal himself standing near the church alter. He was breathing hard with wand held so firmly in his hand that his knuckles were white, his green eyes ablaze with silent fury as he levelled his unwavering gaze toward his nemesis.

"Brave," said Voldemort with a sneer, "but foolish. You cannot think you are match for me?"

Harry gave no reply.

"Come now, Harry," continued Voldemort smoothly in a tone Hermione had already come to recognise as the one the Dark Lord used when he felt in complete control. "Ignoring a direct question? Tsk, tsk. And I thought we had already agreed that Dumbledore would want you to observe proper etiquette? Unless that is you wish for something ... _unpleasant_ to befall your friend?"

_Harry don't!_ But even as the words formed in her mind whilst Voldemort's thinly veiled threat elicted a ripple of laughter from his supporters, Harry gave the reply she knew Voldemort would be able to use against them;

"I said leave her alone," he demanded, his voice taking on a dangerous edge. "She's nothing to you. It's me you want."

"How precious," mocked Voldemort, his scarlet eyes briefly coming to rest on Hermione and narrowing slightly as understanding dawned. "You don't want me to hurt your _girlfriend_, do you Harry?"

Harry worked the muscles in his jaw but forced himself to remain silent, obviously realising his mistake in unwitingly revealing their relationship to his enemy.

Voldemort's face twisted into an insincere smile. "Are no manners taught in our schools nowadays?" he asked his Death Earters in a stage whisper. "Still he refuses to speak when spoken to. Well perhaps a little demonstration of the price of your insolence then? Nagini!"

Spurred into action once more by her masters bidding, Nagini bared her razor sharp teeth and was ready to strike when a second bolt of energy discharged from the tip of Harry's wand. The stench of burnt flesh filled Hermione's nostrils immediately, and she knew that this time Harry had not aimed to miss.

Spitting in pain, the great snake retreated towards it's master, wounded, but still very much alive and all the more dangerous for it.

"I won't tell you again, Riddle," threatened Harry. "You want me? Here I am!"

"You dare?" hissed Voldemort, enraged both by Harry's challenge and by the use of his true name.

"I dare," replied Harry evenly.

"Deluded!" exclaimed Voldemort, any trace of the veneer of civility he had once projected now banished as he rounded on his Death Eaters for support. "This child truly believes his is powerful enough to challenge me ... "

Assurances of his supremacy duly followed, his Death Eaters voices though largely indistinct, audible in places above the general drone. Hermione was able to distinguish the word 'never', and then 'your power is unmatched, my Lord'.

However, depite the content of their words, Hermione couldn't help but note the lack of conviction in the tone of their voices. The shadowed eyes peering out from beneath their masks now uncertain, their sideways glances at one another convincing Hermione that they voiced only empty assurances, their faith in their master severly shaken by recent events.

"I will admit," continued Voldemort speaking directly to Harry again (although Hermione could not help but assume his words were also for the benefit of his lieutenants), "that whilst I have yet to fathom what protections you have invoked to protect against the Killing Curse, I can assure you that you will be begging me for the swift death it would have brought once I am through with you ... "

Harry did not wait to discover what his nemesis had in mind for him:

_"RESTRACTUM_!"

Though her mind felt like it was filled with quick drying cement, Hermione was still able to infer her bond mates intention by mentally translating at least a portion of the incantations Latin roots - _tracto;_ to drag or to pull.

Confirming her theory a jet of pale blue energy shot forth from his wand, directed, not towards the Dark Lord, but at a spot several meters above his head, where it made contact with the wall with a dull thud one would expect of metal on metal. Now connected to the wall by the thin ribbon of energy, Harry jerked his hand backwards, the action dragging the wall with him as if it were magnetically attracted to his wand, thus pulling the apex of the ragstone and flint wall down on top of Voldemort's position.

Whilst his Death Eaters scattered in fright, Voldemort made no attempt to flee. Instead, he directed both of his hands towards the gaping hole Harry had created in the roof above his head in what Hermione initially mistook as a futile gesture of protection. Unable to watch the inexorable conclusion of gravity's effects on the several tonnes of rubble, Hermione looked away.

After several long moments had passed without the accompanying crash of a large portion of the western wall being welcomed back to the earth, Hermione returned her attention towards the doorway and what she saw there caused what little breath she had left to catch in her throat.

Completely unharmed and now lit by the moonlight streaming in through the damaged wall stood Voldemort, a look of triumph etched on his pale face. All around him tiny grains of sand - the only remnants of the vast swathe of masonry that had been plummeting to earth - drifted to the ground in lazy patterns more reminiscent of falling snow than anything else.

_Is that all you've got, Potter?_

The words did not leave Voldemort's lips, but in that brief moment, Hermione could read his mocking expression as clearly as if he had shouted it aloud.

A moment later and he was on the move again. His arms, cloaked in billowing black material, swirling in vast circles before him as if stirring two large pots set side by side on a stove in a manner unlike any offensive spell work Hermione was familiar with.

For the briefest of moments, Hermione permitted herself time to wonder why Harry made no move to counter. But, no sooner had the thought risen to the surface of her consciousness, she sensed, rather than saw her answer.

The still air within the ancient place of worship had begun to stir, and now whipped at her face as it quickly passed beyond what could accurately be described as either a zephyr or a breeze.

The now howling wind forced Harry to edge backwards towards the eastern wall, his arm raised to shield his eye as his robes billowed in the tempest.

Unable to stand or even so much as shout a warning, Hermione watched helplessly as Voldemort directed the magical tornado down the centre of the aisle, his hands moving in a sick approximation of that of a Maestro conducting an orchestra. As it moved relentlessly forwards, the great vortex gathered up the sand, stones and even the unmistakable shapes of the two Death Eaters who had fallen in the battle to give form to the invisible energies which powered the ever expanding whirlwind.

Jaw set, eyes alive with malice, the Dark Lord urged the tempest further forward still as a loud creaking, like that of a wooden ship on high seas, could be heard above the din of the storm as the hurricane force winds torn the huge, and presumably extremely heavy, wooden pews from their mounts, ripping the ornately carved benches to shreds. Hermione watched in horror as several of those shards, now about the size and shape of an arrow, were ejected from the whirlwind towards Harry who was somehow able to dodge, duck and evade the projectiles; much to the amusement of his enemies. For although she could not hear them above the roar of the winds, Hermione knew, even without being able to see their faces, that Voldemort's supporters were laughing at them.

_He's going to bring the whole thing down on top of us,_ Hermione thought helplessly as lifted her forearm to shield her eyes from the swirling dust storm which now hid Harry from sight.

Ignoring the stabbing pain in her side, Hermione renewed her efforts to find her wand and groped blindly for it in the swirling dust with a half formed plan of throwing up the most powerful shield she could muster in the hope they might both survive the inevitable, and, in her opinion, imminent collapse of the ancient structure.

Soft curses escaped her lips as her fingers brushed across useless bits of rubble, wood and other debris before finally closing around the familiar shaft of her wand.

Directing it towards the roof high overhead, Hermione drew as deep a breath as she could muster, as she focused every ounce of her magical strength into producing the strongest shield she could manage. Her lips parted, ready to shout the incantation, when a voice that was not her own filled the church; a voice so powerful it rang out loud and clear above the roar of the wind.

_No, _she corrected an instant later._ Not _above_ the wind - In place of the wind_.

The magical vortex was dissipating just as quickly as it had been created, the ringing in her ears (an after effect of the deafening howl of the magical storm) mercifully muting the sickening thud of the corpses of the two Death Eaters they had dispensed with earlier falling to the ground.

"TOM!"

Hermione's heart soared as the unmistakable voice rang out for a second time from within the shroud of the quickly settling dust.

Dumbledore had come.

_But how? _

Despite the dire circumstances, Hermione's ever curious mind hungered to know how Professor Dumbledore and the Order had found them with the cemetery protected as it was by Voldemort's wards. But almost before she could so much as complete the internal question, the answer hit her with startling clarity: Voldemort's wards had fallen when they had 'died'. It was the only plausible explanation, one which was supported by the fact that her conjured bonds had released her following Voldemort's collapse.

Coalescing from the haze, Hermione could now make out the imposing figure of Albus Dumbledore standing in the centre of the church having placed himself between Voldemort and Harry, who was now flanked by Sirius, Remus and the rest of the reformed Order at the rear of the church.

In contrast to his posture of recent weeks, Dumbledore stood tall with shoulders squared, his blackened hand, not hidden away beneath the folds of his robes as had become his custom, but on full display; worn, Hermione couldn't help but note, almost as a badge of honour. For only the third time in her life, Hermione recognised that this was not Albus Dumbledore, well meaning if often eccentric headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry who stood before her, but the most powerful wizard of the light of the last century. The man who had defeated Grindelwald.

"Dumbledore!" The manner in which Voldemort breathed the headmaster's family name made it sound like the vilest of curse. However, anything else he might have intended to add was cut short as he his gaze snapped over his shoulder to locate the origin of a soft grunt from behind.

Following the Dark Lord's gaze, Hermione's eyes fell upon one of Voldemort's Death Eaters picking himself up of the floor. Before she could so much as process the scene unfolding before her Voldemort's face contorted with rage, an almost feral growl issuing past his bared teeth:

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

The masked individual's eyes widened in fright as he was struck in the torso by an all too familiar beam of green energy which sent his limp body flying backwards as if he had been hit in the chest by a cannonball. Dead before he hit the ground, the body of the former Death Eater struck the floor with such force that his mask rolled away to reveal the vacant, unseeing eyes of Lucius Malfoy, his faced locked forever more in an expression of sheer terror.

Only then did Hermione understand what must have happened: His faith in his master severely shaken, both by the arrival of the defenders of the light_ and_ owing to his masters inability to dispose of two school children successfully, the Malfoy patriarch had obviously attempted to flee_._

_Like father, like son_, she couldn't help but think.

However, it appeared that Malfoy's attempts to disapparate had met with much the same results that Hermione herself had experienced whilst trying to transport Harry to safety earlier that night. The only plausible explanation being that The Order had erected their own anti-disapparation wards immediately following their arrival.

"A lesson for the rest of you!" screeched Voldemort, confirming her theory. His terrible crimson glare taking in each of his remaining servants, who, to a man, averted their gazes from the clearly incensed Dark Lord.

"I apologise for the intrusion, Tom," interrupted Dumbledore calmly, dragging Hermione's attention away from the corpse of Lucius Malfoy. "However, I cannot permit you to harm my students." His tone, whilst civil, could do little to hide the fire which raged behind his sapphire eyes.

"And you're going to stop me?"

"I will."

Dumbledore's words held not a hint of narcissism, merely a statement of his intent, and, for a long moment, the two held each others unblinking gaze.

Even with the benefit of hindsight, Hermione never knew who it was that had thrown the first curse. In the end, she supposed, it didn't much matter. That first hex, whomever had cast it, broke the spell that had held the opposing forces at bay, the scene devolving into the largest duel she had ever experienced anywhere other than in the pages of one of her books.

At the very centre of the room, Voldemort and Dumbledore were locked in combat, the very epitome of the irresistible force and the unmoveable object. Their wand arms little more than a blur as they performed intricate spell work at a speed Hermione hardly believed possible causing her to wonder whether either had time to consciously select their next move or whether they replied purely on instinct.

Secondary duels erupted all around the central battle as the other split up into groups of two or three. Harry, she saw, was fighting with none other than Severus Snape at his side, the former Death Eater duelling with such formidable skill that only Voldemort and Dumbledore fought with greater prowess.

To her right, a gong like sound drew her attention, her eyes widening in horror as she saw a blood red curse ricocheting off Remus Lupin's shield and watched helplessly as she calculated that the deflected spells trajectory was now set on an unstoppable course towards her.

Unlike earlier that night, time did not appear to slow, if anything the curse appeared to race towards her with unnatural speed, and she screwed her eyes shut against the inevitable impact knowing she would be unable to raise her own shield in time.

However, instead of striking her already weakened body, the hex was deflected harmlessly into the wall to her right as it rebounded off another shield with a loud clang.

Opening her eyes to regard her saviour, Hermione was somewhat surprised to find that her gaze did not settle upon Harry, but instead it was the concerned face of Madame Pomfrey swam into focus above her.

"Are you hurt, Miss Granger?" she asked.

Hermione knew even a cursory glance would tell the experienced healer almost everything she would need to know about her condition but she parted her lips and managed to grind out two words in response: "Broken ribs."

Her wand arm still otherwise occupied in maintaining the dome-like shield which permitted her to perform triage in the mist of a battle, Pomfrey resorted to manually assessing Hermione's injured ribs with her left hand, her ministrations eliciting a sharp hiss of pain from her patient as she ran her palm over Hermione's ribcage. "Yes," she agreed presently, "you've definitely broken a few bones."

Hermione managed a quick inclination of her chin to signify her understanding as the school healer drew breath to continue.

"We have to get you out of here ... "

"NO!" Whether the prospect of being removed from the battle or from Harry, Hermione startled herself with her vehement objection.

"Nonsense," replied Pomfrey sternly, a frown of annoyance creasing her brow. "You're in no fit state to stand, let alone fight. We need to get you to safety where you can get proper medical treatment ... you might even have internal injuries."

As if to emphasise her point another stray spell rebounded off her shield.

"I can't leave Harry, Madame Pomfrey," pleaded Hermione. "You know we can't be separated. If I go, so must Harry, and we need every wand we can get. Besides," she added, not even pausing to draw breath, "you've said so yourself, you can 'mend broken bones in a heartbeat'."

For a moment Madame Pomfrey's expression was unreadable, tiny beads of perspiration coating her furrowed brow.

"Very well," she said gruffly. "Drink these."

Three vials were thrust into Hermione's palm and she downed them without hesitation, a warmth quickly spreading from her insides out, dulling the pain and healing her wounds. Feeling her strength return, Hermione pushed up into a crouch and found her body miraculously pain free if a little tender still.

No words were needed between the two as brown eyes met blue, Pomfrey's slight inclination of her head graciously accepting Hermione wordless gratitude whilst Hermione's similar gesture confirming that she would comply with the healers unspoken request that she should report to her for a full medical evaluation once the battle was at an end.

With a final subtle nod the two split up: Hermione hurrying away to join Harry, whilst Madame Pomfrey bustled off in the other direction, hugging the outer wall of the church.

Whether down to the muffling effect of Madame Pomfrey's shield, or simply because she had retreated within her own mind in an attempt to conquer the pain which had coursed through her body, Hermione had heretofore failed to register quite how loud the battle had become. All around her the sounds of fractured stone, smashed glass and shouted incantations filled her ears as she thundered towards the spot she had last seen Harry.

She spotted his unmistakable head of raven hair slightly off to the right and she veered towards him. He was now battling two masked Death Eaters alone but Hermione could permit herself no time to wonder what fate had befallen Professor Snape. Harry's back was towards her, and whilst she could see that he was holding his own, in the brief moment she had to assess the situation, she realised he would be unlikely to gain the upper hand, consumed as he was with blocking the hexes his enemies relentlessly threw towards him

_Harry, get down!_ she all but yelled across their mental bridge.

His trust in her implicit, Harry dropped the the floor as her cutting curse sizzled over his head. Hermione watched with grim satisfaction as the Death Eater on Harry's right gave out a strangled yelp of pain as his left leg was severed just above the knee by a curse he had never seen coming. He collapsed to the floor screaming in agony, clutching at his stump, arterial blood spurting from his wound sending his comrade back peddling away.

"Hermione!" exclaimed Harry, pushing to his feet and pulling her into the briefest of embrace. "Thank God you're okay."

"Madame Pomfrey patched me up," she replied pulling back from their embrace knowing that it was neither the time nor the place.

For a moment Harry regarded her in silence as if confirming for his own eyes that his wife was whole and largely unharmed; numerous, lacerations, abrasions and contusions notwithstanding of course. Apparently satisfied with what he saw he gave a subtle nod and made to pull Hermione away, presumably to resume the battle.

"Wait!" Hermione called, and caught him by the crook of his elbow. "I need to stem the bleeding," she added, tipping her head towards the now silent and presumably unconscious Death Eater who was lying in a pool of bright red blood; one that was still rapidly expanding as a copious amount of fresh blood still spurted from his severed limb.

Harry glanced towards his fallen foe. "He's dead already."

"Well he will be soon if I don't stop the blood loss," she conceded. "But if he dies he can't stand trial for his crimes. Besides," she added after a beat, "it's our compassion which set us apart than them."

Sensing that her bond mate was considering her words carefully, Hermione directed her wand towards the grizzly sight and spoke the incantation that she hoped might save the man's life. "Aduro." A moment later she knew she had successfully cauterised the wound as the unpleasant spell of burnt flesh assaulted her nose. "Now we can go."

Rejoining the battle, Hermione couldn't help but feel buoyed by the fact that the light appeared to have taken the upper hand. True enough, two members of The Order had fallen victim to enemy curses; Remus Lupin and Severus Snape. The latter, she learnt via her link with Harry's mind, having been injured attempting to save his life. The often antagonistic potions mater stepping in front of a curse which had been meant for Harry. She knew too (having riffled through the Harry's memories of the evening) that neither's injuries were life threatening, but had nevertheless required treatment beyond Madame Pomfrey's capability to perform on the battlefield.

In contrast, Voldemort's ranks had dwindled. Hermione counted just a handful of Death Eaters still fighting, to a man trying ever more desperate measures to turn the tide of a battle it was clear they were loosing.

But just as it seemed that victory was inevitable, a gasp to the left drew her attention.

_Dumbledore!_

The leader of the light had fallen; a large blackened hole in the centre of his chest the cause.

_You bastard!_ She wanted to scream, to rage at the soulless monster responsible but found herself unable to speak owing to a large lump in her throat.

Perhaps sensing her commingled grief and rage, Harry turned to face her, his green eyes widening in shock as he followed her eye line.

Dumbledore had landed awkwardly on the stone steps of the entrance which were now only barely discernible from the rubble and debris of the battle. His left arm was bent backwards at an impossible angle behind his back, whilst the gruesome wound on his chest bled profusely. He was however, still alive, his blackened right arm still clutching his wand which he used to maintain a shield over his battered body.

If any had doubted the severity of Dumbledore's injuries before now, the sight of the most powerful light wizard of the century struggling to maintain his flickering and weakening opaque shield provided the starkest of proof.

Voldemort stood over him, his back turned towards both Harry, Hermione and the rest of the fighters. "You've lost old man!" he gloated as Nagini, tasting the fresh blood in the air with her tongue, slithered closer.

Whether unable or unwilling to reply, Dumbledore said nothing, his gaze instead riveted on some unseen point over Voldemort's shoulder, the depths of his sapphire eyes showing neither pain nor regret but something Hermione believed if spoken aloud would amount to but a single word; '_please_'.

A subtle shift of his eye line brought blue eyes to meet green, and, although pale and trembling, the headmaster worked his lips to soundlessly form the same word Hermione had read in his eyes. _Please ... _

Voldemort laughed. A high cruel sound which carried no mirth. "You beg for a swift end?" he taunted, misconstruing Dumbledore's meaning. "So be it!"

He raised his wand high overhead ready to land the final blow but it was Harry's voice which rang out first:

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

An almost imperceptible smile graced the aged wizards lips as Harry's spell streaked ahead of the Killing Curse, disarming Dumbledore and sending the Elder wand spinning into the air just as the green beam delivered it's fatal blow.

Eyes wide in confusion, Voldemort turned on the spot to follow the flight of the ornately crafted wand. "The old man's wand will not save you any more than it did him," he jeered as he watched Harry snatch the wand out of mid air with a catch any seeker would have been proud of. "The wand is only as powerful as the one whole wields it!"

But Hermione was not listening to Voldemort's words. The moment Harry had plucked the final hallow from the air the strangest sensation had coursed through her body.

A feeling akin that of a chip of ice implanted deep inside her chest. A cold which, far from dissipating within the warmth of her body, expanded outwards until every part of her tingled with an icy chill that somehow did not result in either an attack of the shivers or her skin turning to goose flesh. Furthermore, it was a feeling that she sensed Harry was also experiencing.

_The Hallows!_ Somehow, although she was not able to fully comprehend the mechanisms at work at that precise moment, through some unknown interaction between their bonded souls and the wand, the cloak and the resurrection stone, the Deathly Hallows had been reunited. The very real power both she and Harry now felt flowing through their veins, quite literally the ability to be masters of death.

Conjoining their hands, Hermione and Harry spoke simultaneously in a voice that was as far from their own as it was possible to be. A voice which was both nowhere, yet omnipresent at the same moment. A voice both powerful and yet conversely also little more that a whisper.

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," they said, their lips working in perfect harmony as Voldemort's eyes widened in confusion and fright. "You have eluded me for too long."

Although the words her lips formed were not her own, a detached part of Hermione's mind felt no fear that her body was being controlled by an outside force. The hallows had somehow given her the true understanding of what it meant to be what legends spoke of as 'masters of death'. Neither she nor Harry had become death itself, and nor were they invincible or imortal.

No, the power or the Hallows combined in such as way that she and Harry had become the messengers of death, or for want of a better term, it's conduit, charged with asserting deaths will. A will, which, in this case, wanted to bring to an end the existence of a being who had cheated death not once, or twice, but seven times.

"What trickery is this?" cried Voldemort, his gleaming eyes shifting rapidly from Harry, to Hermione and back again, the attention of the room now riveted to the unfolding scene, the battle completely forgotten.

"We are Abaddon," intoned Harry and Hermione in response, "although we have been given many names by those who fear us."

Voldemort unleased another Killing Curse, but its hellish green energies simply washed harmlessly across his targets.

"Your body had perished," continued Harry and Hermione without pause, "yet we were cheated out of your soul. We will not be denied again. It is time for you to die."

All pretence of power extinguished, Voldemort turned to flee. However, before he had taken so much as a single stride, a powerful wave of energy, which could be felt but not seen, covered the space between Death's conduits and the Dark Lord in such a minuscule measure of time that Hermione doubted it would even have a name.

For an instance there was silence as the assembled fighters watched in disbelief as the Dark Lord first stiffened and then fell to the floor, his red eyes wide and lifeless.

The deafening slience was broken as a tumultuous wave of noise errupted from the warriors of the light a moment later. Lord Voldemort was no more.

But neither Harry nor Hermione heard. The moment Riddle had collapsed to the floor Abaddon had left them and they were now in each others arms, tears rolling down their cheeks in commingled disbelief, jubilation and relief.

They were free.

* * *

><p><em><strong>AM** - Well there we go. Voldemort's gone and my story is at an end. There is one more chapter to come, but it is largely just tying up a few loose ends and setting up for the sequel - trust me there's too much to tie up in one chapter. The Hallows, the greater implications of their 'marriage' etc so there simply had to be another instalment to complete their story. _

_That said, it will be a while before I write it. Free time is virtually non-existent right now, and what little time I do get to devote to my hobby is focused on a different story all together. _

_Anyway, let's talk about the chapter:_

_You may wonder why the was no repeat of the 'wand lock' we are familiar with from canon. Well, from what I have inferred, the brother wands only connect in such a manner when each tries to attack the other. As Harry only used his Phoenix wand to cast defensive or non-combative spells towards Voldemort there was no repeat of Prior Incantatum. _

_Also, I wanted to ensure that not only would Voldemort get his comeuppance in this chapter, but Malfoy too, who (in my opinion) got off far too lightly in canon. He is a coward of the highest order so I thought it apt that he should die and the hands of his master whilst attempting to flee._

_As for the death of Voldemort himself, I owe thanks to the master of Harmony fics, Paracelsus. The method of his death was inspired by his excellent work 'coming back late', although I have tweaked the details to make it my own by having 'death' (Abaddon - biblical reference if you are wondering) speak through Harry and Hermione. _

_And that leads us to Dumbledore. He was always going to die - there is no cure for his curse in my universe any more than there was a cure in JK's, but I felt he deserved a fitting end. He went down fighting and what's more, managed to prevent Voldemort gaining control of the deathstick. _

_Anyway. I think that's everything. I love to hear your opinions, so if you've read every chapter (I know you are there! I can hear you breathing) and you want to say hello in a review I can promise you that I reply to every single one I ever get so you won't be wasting your time. _

_Till next time peeps._

_Wings._


	23. Chapter 23 Omens

_**A/N** – Well here it is. The end. I think it's turned out pretty well, and I've enjoyed writing it. Thanks to Katesmom2 who has been on board since day one and has recently become my Beta, any mistakes which remain however are still very much my own._

_For those of you reading multiple fics, there is a recap of the story so far bellow my author musings (sounds much better than author notes, right?) at the bottom of this chapter to help you remember exactly what has occurred so far._

_Disclaimer: After twenty three chapters I have run out of ways to say I don't own Potter. But I don't. So there._

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Twenty Three - Omens<strong>

"You alright mate?"

To Hermione's surprise it was Ron and not her who voiced the very question she had been considering broaching for much of the last hour. Her best friends concerns presumably motivated by the same thing which had her subconscious worrying at her bottom lip - namely Harry's uncharacteristic silence for much of the long journey south.

The trio were seated alone in a compartment towards the rear of the Hogwarts express, the rolling green fields and villages they sped past, little more than a greenish brown blur beyond the window. Ron was seated opposite Harry and Hermione, the latter curled up on her side with her head resting comfortably on Harry's shoulder, and, whilst it was fair to say that their conversations had been fairly banal from the outset, Harry had clearly been distracted and had eventually lapsed into an almost complete silence shortly after they had crossed the Scottish border back into England.

True enough, with the prospect of returning to his life with the magic loathing Dursely's weighing over him each year, Harry had rarely been happy leaving Hogwarts in the past. However, with Voldemort defeated and therefore removing the necessity of utilising the blood protection on offer at Privet Drive, Harry, she knew, had no intention of ever returning to that place.

Nevertheless, she could never recall him being quite so ... _distant_ before.

Even his thoughts offered little in the way of insight for her. Unlike the previous, albeit rare occasions, that Harry had deliberately closed his mind from hers, Hermione was certain that this was not the case now. Then, his mindscape had appeared to her as nothing more than a blank sheet of obsidian, with not a single thought or trace of emotion permitted to leek past his impenetrable mental shields. But now, whilst his mind _was_ open to her touch, Hermione had struggled to get a clear read on him; his thoughts clouded and confused, almost as if even Harry himself didn't know what he was supposed to be thinking.

She had at first attributed this emotional turmoil to the harrowing events of earlier that morning, when the whole school had attended Professor Dumbledore's funeral in the grounds of the castle. Hermione well remembered the almost overwhelming sense of grief and despair she had experienced when she had attended her first funeral following the sudden death of her maternal grandmother five years earlier, and knew, that Harry, more so than any other student at the school, had experience the same devastation today. The tears which flowed freely down his cheeks testament to the fact that he had regarded the former headmaster as something of a mentor _and_ a surrogate grandfather all rolled into one.

It had been a deeply moving affair, with several dignitaries, friends and students past and present offering their recollections of one of the greatest wizards in recorded history - albeit with no mention of Lord Voldemort's role in his death.

Having wanted to avoid the mass hysteria that would likely follow the revelation that a wizard so feared, that even now few could speak his name, had resurrected himself, the ministry had made short work of covering up the true circumstances surrounding Dumbledore's death. Their cover story confirming both the existence of a cell of 'rogue' Death Eaters and the death of Albus Dumbledore at their hands, but little more than that.

Neither Harry, nor any of the other members of the Order had been overly pleased with the truth being subverted in such a fashion, but it had been made very clear to each of them that they had very little in the way of choice. Minister Fudge had at least agreed to sweeten the pot slightly, and had tabled a proposal to have a full pardon issued to Sirius now that they had retrieved the body of Peter Pettigrew, whom they were claiming to be the ringleader of the reformed Death Eaters.

But whilst Harry's mood, and that of the combined student body as a whole, could only be described as solemn, Hermione couldn't help but believe there was more behind Harry's morose demeanour than simple sadness at Dumbledore's passing.

"Huh?"

Harry's grunted response to Ron's earlier question, pulled Hermione's attention back to the here and now. Harry had lifted his forehead from the window pane and was now regarding his best friend in the manner of someone who knew they had been addressed, but had been unable to comprehend the meaning of the speakers words.

"I was just saying that Hermione and I have decided to run away and become muggle accountants together."

"Oh ... _What_?" Harry's brow furrowed in confusion as Ron's words finally registered.

"Come on mate, you've been out of it ever since we left Hogwarts. I thought you'd be happy, Voldemort's gone ... you're free. We all are."

Hermione shifted her head from where it lay on Harry's shoulder and sat up so that she could lock her brown eyes with his. She had considered several probable causes of Harry's obviously troubled thoughts in the last few hours, all of which now clamoured for her attention as she regarded him fondly. "You're not still worried that he might be able to come back are you?" she asked picking one of the most likely at random.

"No," replied Harry, his tone betraying none of the uncertainty he had voiced shortly after the battle had been won. "Madame Pomfrey's the best. If she's says it's gone, I believe her."

Hermione offered a soft smile as she saw the conviction of his words reflected in the depths of his emerald eyes. He was referring, she knew, to the piece of soul Tom Riddle had placed within Nagini; a fragment they had been unable to destroy prior to the Dark Lord's destruction at the hands of Abaddon - a projection of death itself - leaving Harry deeply concerned that his nemesis might be able to find another way to rise again.

Those fears were assuaged, first by the discovery of the great snakes dead body within the ruins of the church in the immediate aftermath of the battle, and latterly by Madame Pomfrey, who performed a magical autopsy on the beast. She concluded that Nagini had succumbed to her injuries _only_ when her magically strengthened resistance to curses and the like had been nullified when the piece of Tom Riddle's soul had been forcibly torn from her body at Abaddon's command.

Although satisfied that Harry now truly believed that Voldemort was gone forever, the question of his emotional distance still remained, and, with the subject successfully broached thanks to Ron, Hermione was determined to get to the bottom of it. _Perhaps he's having second thoughts about burying the Elder Wand in Dumbledore's tomb_, she mused recalling the lack of unanimous agreement amongst the surviving Order members as to how best to ensure that the power of the Deathly Hallows was forever broken.

She opened her mouth with the intention of asking just that, when she was distracted by a graceful shape outside the window. "Harry, look!" she exclaimed, working the muscles of her mouth to alter her original statement and draw Harry's attention to the window. "It's Hedwig."

Both Harry and Ron followed her gaze to look outside, where, sure enough, Harry's faithful snowy owl was gliding effortlessly alongside the swaying train, a letter clearly visible tied to one leg.

Harry stood and quickly pulled down the window allowing Hedwig to swoop in, the sounds and smells of the of the scarlet locomotive's snorting engine filling the compartment immediately. She landed gently on Hermione's lap and dutifully extended her leg to be relieved of her burden.

Slamming the window shut behind her, Harry smoothed his windswept hair out of his eyes and turned to face his familiar. "Thanks girl," he said affectionately as he smoothed the downy feathers of her breast whilst Hermione untied the note and offered it to Harry.

Accepting the proffered letter, Harry dropped to his knees and rummaged through his trunk stashed under the seat. He emerged a few seconds later with a few owl treats in hand and fed one to Hedwig immediately before placing the rest in her empty cage which sat atop the luggage rack. Upon finishing her reward, Hedwig gave a dignified hoot of thanks and pushed off from Hermione's lap, taking care not to puncture her flesh with her sharp talons.

"Who's it from?" asked Ron gesturing the note still clasped in Harry's hand as he covered the space between the two benches and flopped down next to Hermione.

Harry closed the door of Hedwig's cage and retook his seat closest to the window, sandwiching her between them. "It's from Sirius," he said excitedly as he studied the handwriting on the envelope briefly before ripping it open, unfolding the letter within and smoothing it out on Hermione's lap.

For a moment the compartment was silent as the three teens put their heads together to read Sirius's note;

_Dear Harry (and Hermione and Ron too no doubt),_

_I'm a free man!_

_The Wizengamot have just overturned my conviction and returned me to my rightful position as Head of the Most Ancient and Noble House of blah blah blah (you know I'm not one for all that pomp and ceremony). The Black family assets have been unfrozen and returned to my control and I'm even being considered as the next Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot! I think I set dear Remus's recovery back a few weeks when I told him - who would have thought it? A Marauder as Chief Warlock! Heaven help us. Remus sends his regards by the way._

_But that's not the best of it. Without a criminal record hanging over my head, I am eligible to fulfil my role as godfather to the full extent of your parents wishes. I am, as of this moment, your legal guardian. _

_I'll be waiting to collect you from Kings Cross this afternoon, and, I believe I am right in saying, that Stygan House (one of the homes belonging to the Black family estate) is located in Oxfordshire. If you like we can summer there. _

_See you soon,_

_Love, _

_Sirius_

_ps - Your wife can come and stay too (wink wink), if her parents are agreeable of course._

Hermione's cheeks reddened as she read the last line, but could not deny that she was deliriously happy.

From a purely selfish point of view, she was overjoyed that Harry would be little more than a stone's throw from her parents home in Farringdon all summer. She had been unable to find a way to broach the subject of Harry staying at some point over the summer before the third task, and, following the battle of Little Hangleton, the last week of term had flown by so quickly in a haze of ministry interviews and debriefings that she had resigned herself to spending at least the first part of the summer apart from the most important person life.

Not that asking her parents to permit her boyfriend to come and visit was the most daunting conversation she knew she faced that summer - explaining their unique bond and subsequent status as a married couple was something she had been content to force to the back of her thoughts for several months, but could be postponed no longer.

Awkward conversations aside, she was also thrilled that Harry would finally have a chance at a normal home life; the kind of family life he had always deserved and desired in equal measure.

"Whoa!" exclaimed Harry bounding to his feet still clutching the letter, his eyes racking over the words again and again as if the very act of memorising them would ensure that they were true. "This is - this is great!"

"Oh, I'm so happy for you, Harry," said Hermione also getting to her feet and pulling her soul mate into a fierce hug. "But I thought Sirius's hearing wasn't till next week?"

Minister Fudge had given his assurances that Sirius's release was little more than a formality now that they had evidence of his innocence, but even so, the wheels of justice turned just as slowly in magical world as in the muggle, and Harry had been forced to make plans to board at the Leaky Cauldron for at least the first week of the summer whilst the details of his guardianship were finalised.

Within the prison of her arms she felt Harry shrug. "It was," he confirmed, "but I guess they brought it forward."

Just then the Hogwarts express thundered over a set of points sending the couple tumbling to the floor as the carriage rocked violently to and fro. Hermione landed on top of Harry with a soft 'oof' and for a moment there was silence as they stared at one another; bodies pressed together, noses mere centimetres apart, their world shrinking to just the two of them.

"Urgh!" exclaimed Ron, his tone one of part embarrassment and part jest. "Get a room!"

Their moment broken, Hermione snapped her head round to glare at the redhead fearing his attempt at humour ill timed considering Harry's distant mood that afternoon. However her eyes had barely begun to narrow in annoyance when the sounds of Harry's booming laughter filled the compartment, the burden of responsibility he had felt on his shoulders since he had learnt the truth of his destiny melting away as the sounds of Hermione's lilting laugh and Ron's deep belly laugh soon joined his.

His dour mood forgotten, the remained of the journey was an enjoyable affair as the trio made plans for the summer. With the prospect of three homes (two magical and one muggle) to split their time between, it was looking like being the best summer holidays any of them had ever had.

Before too long, the Hogwarts Express had slowed to a stop under the great arched roof of Kings Cross station, and Harry, Ron and Hermione joined the throng of pupils pushing out into the corridors.

Helping one another with their respective trunks and animal cages, the trio emerged onto the crowded platform, each of their eyes instinctively scanning over the heads of their fellow students for their parents.

"There's Mum 'n Dad," said Ron, easily identifying the heads of flaming red hair. "Come over and say bye once you've found Sirius and your parents," he called back as he ploughed into the crowd and was quickly lost from sight.

Hermione spotted the familiar balding head of her father next, and caught his attention with a cheerful wave. "Come on, Harry," she said slipping her hand into his. "I want to introduce you to my parents."

Harry didn't reply, but allowed himself to be guided through the quickly dispersing crowd.

"Is something still bothering you?" Hermione asked, realising she had never gotten to the bottom of what had been troubling him earlier in the journey as she sensed an abrupt return of his melancholia - his thoughts becoming clouded and uncertain to her once more. "You know you can tell me anything," she prompted when it became clear he wasn't going to reply immediately.

"Oh," said Harry sheepishly, running a hand through the back of his hair. "Er, well, to tell you the truth, I've been dreading meeting your parents..."

Hermione felt her eyes harden involuntarily.

"No! Not like that," he corrected quickly, recognising her obvious annoyance. "I mean, it would be scary enough being introduced to your Mum and Dad as _the boyfriend_," he explained, bobbing his conjoined index and middle fingers together in mid-air to mimic quotations marks, "but how am I supposed to look your Dad in the eye and tell him we're - we're - "

"Married?" supplied Hermione.

"Yeah," agreed Harry, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in a display of nervousness. "I think I'd rather face Riddle again."

Hermione briefly considered telling her bond mate that he was worrying over nothing, but, as she knew she shared many of the fears Harry had just voiced, she elected to stick with the truth.

"You're right," she said coming to a halt still out of earshot of her parents and turning to face Harry, "it won't be easy."

A muscle twitched in Harry's jaw - this was obviously not what he had been hoping to hear.

"But," she added, dropping her trunk to the ground with a thud and taking his other hand in hers so that they were now looking into each others eyes, "we'll get through it like we always do."

"Together?" A lop sided smile graced Harry's lips.

Hermione nodded. _Together_.

oOo

Cedric Diggory watched his girlfriend of the last six months, Cho Chang, disappear into the milling crowd of platform Nine and three-quarters with a heavy heart - it was going to be tough being separated from her. After all, he had fallen hard for the Ravenclaw witch and this would mark their first meaningful time apart since he had admitted those feelings to her shortly after the second task; feelings, he had been overjoyed to learn, she reciprocated.

"Cedric!"

The unmistakable voice of Amos Diggory, his father, took his mind off her absence and he turned to face him.

Amos Diggory was hurrying towards him with arms wide, a beaming smile etched on his face, and, although Cedric had always thought of his father as a tall man, as he had discovered when his family had joined him at Hogwarts for the final task last week, he now had to direct his gaze downwards to meet his father's eye, having recently exceeded him in height.

"Cedric, my boy," said his father and Cedric found himself pulled into a warm embrace.

"Hi Da - _aad_," he replied, hissing in pain as his father's paternal pat on the back aggravated one of the partially healed wounds he had received in the maze.

Amos immediately released his embrace but held onto him by the shoulders. "Sorry son," he said apologetically. "I'm just so proud of you. Second place in such prestigious tournament will certainly open a lot of doors for you once you've finished school ... "

Cedric could only offer a non-committal shrug - in all truthfulness he had absolutely no idea what he wanted to do after school. He performed well in most areas but had yet to find anything at which he truly excelled, aside perhaps from quidditch.

" ... And who knows," continued his father, releasing him completely and grasping the handle of his school trunk as he made for the exit, "if you hadn't been cornered by that Blunt-Ended Shrimp of Hagrid's - "

"Blast-Ended Skrewt," corrected Cedric, falling into step alongside.

"What? Oh, yes, blast-Ended Skrewt. Who knows, you might have won the whole thing outright! That would've shown that Potter kid, eh Cedric?"

But Cedric wasn't really listening. He had stopped in his tracks as a strange sensation akin to walking through a wall of ice cold water washed across him.

"You alright, Ced?" asked Amos, registering that his son was no longer at his side and turning to face him.

"Yeah," replied Cedric uncertainly. "Yeah, fine," he added a little more confidently. "Just came over all shivery for a moment there."

"Ah!" exclaimed his father in a knowing sort of tone. "No doubt one of the first years getting in a last magical prank of the summer." As if to prove his point, Amos rose onto his tip-toes to peer past his son's shoulder, obviously expecting to catch the culprit in the act.

Cedric too turned his head to follow his father's gaze, but saw no one.

"Must have fled the scene of the crime," concluded Amos jovially. "Come on Ced, let's get you home."

As father and son made their way to the wrought iron arch that marked the exit from the magical world, the cause of Cedric's sensation of deep cold fell into step behind them; invisible to all.

The figure moved slowly and was veiled in black, it's features, aside from being clearly humanoid, so undefined that it appeared asexual.

Held before it in an unadorned golden candlestick, undisturbed by the beings passage through the air, was a lit candle, which, although obviously once tall and thin, had burned down to the end, the small stub of wax which remained clearly unable to fuel the flame for much longer.

The flame, like its bearer, was undetectable to all those who walked the earth.

All, with the exception of two.

Those the humans called the 'Masters of Death'.

**- Fin - **

_**A/M** - *Cue evil laugh* Mwwwwaaaaarrrhahahaha! _

_Poor old Cedric. The guy can't catch a break! Hermione and Harry have succeeded in altering history and the bloke still has a death omen stalking him at every turn. I thought about using the Grim as the manifestation of that omen, but I liked the imagery of the veiled figure far better. _

_Well, no doubt you can now probably guess at least part of the focus of the sequel, but I will have to be even eviler (probably not a word, but you get the gist) and admit it will be a while before sequel gets written. Real Life is getting in the way, and what little time I am permitted to work on my hobby is focused on something else entirely. _

_I'd just like to take a moment to thank each and everyone of you who have read, reviewed or alerted/favourited my story. The sheer number of you has exceeded even my wildest expectations, so a heart felt thank you to you all. Especially to those of you who take the time to review each and every chapter - you know who you are._

_Till next time peeps._

_Wings._

_Ps - any glaring plot holes/mistakes just let me know. I'm going to be editing the whole story over the next few weeks before I start on anything new so hopefully I'll be able to fix any screw ups I've made along the way. _

**Recap**

Chapters 1 & 2 - Set twelve years after the end of the war. Harry is a long term resident of St Mungo's and is clinically insane. Hermione has a plan to save him. She attempts to travel back in time using the standing stone but fails, killing herself in the process.

Chapter 3 & 4 - Fifteen year old Hermione wakes at the bottom of the lake during the second task. After she is rescued by Harry and they become a couple she discovers she is in possession of memories that are not her own. She visits Dumbledore in search of answers but is accused of being an imposter.

Chapter 5 & 6 - After an attempt at mind reading gone wrong, Dumbledore, Hermione and Harry all find themselves admitted to the infirmary. Dumbledore's suspicions are proven unfounded but a new a new mystery is revealed. Hermione is in possession of two magical core's, one of which from the future. Harry is also revealed to be bonded to the older Hermione, and thus in the present as well.

Chapter 7 & 8 - As Harry and Hermione struggle to come to terms with their new status as a bonded couple, other consequences of their link reveal themselves as Harry, now sharing the future Hermione's magical strength, nearly looses control of his magic after being taunted by Snape.

Chapter 9 & 10 - the trio share what they have learnt with Dumbledore and Sirius. In return, Dumbledore finally reveals the secrets he has held since Harry was born.

Chapter 11 – Hermione assures Harry that he does have a choice in regards to the prophecy, but he elects to face Voldemort regardless. They visit Dumbledore who informs them that Luna Lovegood will be their instructor in their attempts to access any latent memories from the future.

Chapter 12 – Harry and Hermione begin lessons with Luna and Hermione suffers a partial vision of the future which leads her to the belief that Harry dies at Voldemorts had in the original timeline.

Chapter 13 – Hermione and Sirius resolve their differences.

Chapter 14 – Harry, Hermione and Luna succeed in entering a lucid dream uncovering some details of their future.

Chapter 15 & 16 – Using the pensieve, the order are able to mine more information from Hermione's recollections of the future, allowing them to identify and locate the Locket as a Horcrux. Fulfilling his last orders, Kreacher is awarded the task of it's destruction after it becomes clear that the adverse effects of the piece of Voldemort's soul are too much for either Hermione or Sirius to cope with.

Chapter 17 – Dumbledore, whilst on a mission to retrieve the ring from the Gaunt shack, is once again cursed when he finds himself tempted to place the ring on his finger in the hopes of seeing his family once more.

Chapter 18 - Dumbledore reveals much of his back story regarding the death of his sister as well as introducing Harry and Hermione to the Deathly Hallows of which they now have all three.

Chapter 19 – Harry competes in the Triwizard championship, winning outright, but is transported to the graveyard in Little Hangleton.

Chapter 20 – Hermione goes to little Hangleton in an attempt to save Harry, but is too late to prevent the re-birth of the Dark Lord and subsequent capture at the hands of Voldemort and his supporters.

Chapter 21 – Our heroes 'die' and find themselves in limbo speaking with their elder counterparts.

Chapter 22 – Lord Voldemort is destroyed by the power of the Hallows.


End file.
